

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 






''nr^r\'\i^f\, 




^,Wnnf>r\r\/ 


r A A A A A A Ar* 

QO'SQO'^oOOAOApO^^AOf 

'^wr'rwAAAAAA»A*A, 





TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 









» I •- 




'4 


.(. .- h, ''•^.^iv' 

fi- • .>>t-^ 


' V 




’ 'Ci ' -i’i''^*'^ 


-^ > ■ . . .»« X *. - • 





I * 




^ r* * * Am ‘W • 

%^fi^Xfl -« ^.- i- - V ;/• J 
s -a^jr^ •'.*-• .*:Jf ’i"^' ''■■■ ■,■.' >*■■;. ■:: - 




l‘" 

( 

jr 

V : 

% ^ 


A 

, ^ % 


• ^ 



r 

B*;. 

1 

i 



• >>. 
1 

. * 4 ♦ 


•.■•"'■ /‘.r< 

. ■ -« '?<!•■ 


I .^•, -u ,-, ' ;r/. '. ■ ■; 




. .V 

'■ • 'iff 



J- V 

if 



' V 

^ fc 

■ ' ''^--in 


'“•■^ 7^ 

> 

«* 

• ^ _. ■ 


* # 

\ 

t . i: 


V . ^ 

1 

't' 

i iViMA 


>. 

y 





CHAIRING TOM IN THE QUADRANGLE. 


P- 358 





l4uXJ 


TOM BROWN’S 

■ ^ ^ ^ ^ 2; ^'Z 

SCHOOL DAYS 



With Illustrations by Arthur Hughes and Sydney Prior Hall 


i 


gork 

MACMILLAN AND CO. 

1881 


07 ' 







% 



4 


% 




% 

• . ' S 










V- 


f 




» 



« 






W 










^ 




\ • • 
k 






* 


4 



1 



MES. AENOLD, 

OF FOX HOWE, 

THIS BOOK IS (without HER PERMISSION) 

Jltbical 

BY THE AUTHOR, 

WHO OWES MORE THAN HE CAN EVER ACKNOW’'LEDGE OK FORGET 


TO HER AND HERS. 




J ' I • ’ • 


. /'i* 


■ » 


' #• • • 


— ^ -<• 




r. 

\ . 


r-- 




■ - 5 ^ . .i.' A* .- . • 

V. > . 

‘ ' ■ ■■>:. 

.a,- ;.. \ 


A‘ 


f • 


V-- . ^ 




t: ' ' 


* t. ^ 


- cr ^ 

/% ^i, ,.Vj 


I 




-■ • 

^-V. vV ' 

i fV . '"'-V - . 

V - 

■>' .A '. 





■^i - ■■ 

V, •* 


,'* • j ■ • . ‘ . ’ 


1 '■ ■ . 


• f 


iii^ \ 







• V- r 

« V. 1 

; . «. 

'• A 

- 

'•, • > T 


''■ • ^-■-. . 

• _ A • % . • . . 

* '', /uV 

■**.1-** ' * « 


■'f»* 


“ ."♦- 

' A ;• 

* ^ 

* . » 


'v. ' 


.v^w:* 


• • 

4 . 

.- 

• - y • I 



: • / * 

, 

, 






CV - 

r ' 

0 

' >•;■ _ 


. 

\ 7 

_* ft .« 

% 





PKEFACE 


TO THE SIXTH EDITION. 

I RECEIVED the following letter from an old friend soon 
after the last edition of this book was published, and 
resolved, if ever another edition were called for, to print 
it. For it is clear from this and other like comments, 
that something more should have been said expressly 
on the subject of bullying, and how it is to be met. 

My dear , 

** I blame myself for not having earlier suggested whether 
you could not, in another edition of Tom Brown, or another 
story, denounce more decidedly the evils of bullying at schools. 
You have indeed done so, and in the best way, by making 
Flashman tlie bully the most contemptible character; but in 
that scene of the tossing, and similar passages, you hardly 
suggest that such things should be stopped — and do not suggest 
any means of putting an end to them. 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


‘‘ This subject has been on my mind for years. It fills me 
with grief and misery to think what weak and nervous children 
go through at school — how their health and character for life are 
destroyed by rough and brutal treatment. 

“ It was some comfort to be under the old delusion that fear 
and nervousness can be cured by violence, and that knocking 
about will turn a timid boy into a bold one. But now we know 
well enough that is not true. Gradually training a timid child 
to do bold acts would be most desirable ; hut frightenivg Vim 
and ill-treating him will not make him courageous. Every 
medical man knows the fatal effects of terror, or agitation, or 
excitement, to nerves that are over-sensitive. There are different 
kinds of courage, as you have shown in your character of 
Aiiliur. 

“ A boy may have moral courage, and a finely-organized 
brain and nervous system. • Such a boy is calculated, if judi- 
ciously educated, to be a great, wise, and useful man ; but he 
may not possess animal courage ; and one night’s tossing^ or 
bullying, may produce such an injury to his brain and nerves 
that his usefulness is spoiled for life. I verily believe that 
hundreds of noble organizations are thus destroj’ed every 
year. Horse-jockeys have learnt to be wiser; they know that 
a highly nervous horse is utterly destroyed by harshness. A 
groom who tried to cure a shying horse by roughness and 
violence, would be discharged as a brute and a fool. A man 
who would regulate his watch with a crowbar would be con- 
sidered an ass. But the person who thinks a child of 
delicate and nervous organization can be made bold by 
bullying is no better, 

“He can be made bold by healthy exercise and games and 
• sports; but that is quite a different thing. And even these 
games and sports should bear some proportion to his strength 
and capacities. 

“ I very much doubt whether small children should play with 


PREFACE. 


IX 


big ones — tbe rush of a set of great f'llows at football, or the 
speed of a cricket-ball sent by a strong hitter, must be very 
alarming to a mere child, to a child who might stand up boldly 
enough among children of his own size and height. 

“Look at half-a-dezen small children playing cricket by them- 
selves ; how feeble are their blows, how slowly they bowl. You 
can measure in that way their capacity. 

“Tom Brown and his eleven were bold enough playing 
against an eleven of about their own calibre ; but I suspect 
they would have been in a precious funk if they had played 
against eleven giants, whose bowling bore the same proportion 
to theirs that theirs does to the small children’s above. 

“ To return to the tossing. 1 must say I think some means 
might be devised to enable schoolboys to go to bed in quietness 
and peace — and that some means ought to be devised and en- 
forced. No good, moral or physical, to those who bully or those 
who are bullied, can ensue from such scenes as take place in 
the dormitories of schools. I suspect that British wisdom and 
ingenuity are sufficient to discover a remedy for this evil, if 
directed in the right direction. 

“ The fact is, that the condition of a small boy at a large 
school is one of peculiar hardship and suffering. He is entirely 
at the mercy cf proverbially the roughest things in the universe 
— great schoolboys ; and he is deprived of the protection which 
the weak have in civilized society ; for he may not complain ; if 
he does, he is an outlaw — he has no protector but public opinion, 
and that a public opinion of the very lowest grade, the opinion 
of rude and ignorant boys, 

“ What do schoolboys know of those deep questions of moral 
and physical philosojdiy, of the anatomy of mind and body, by 
which the treatment of a child should be regulated? 

“ Wh^’’ should the laws of civilization be suspended for 
schools ? Why should boys be left to herd together with no 
law but that of force or cunning? What would become of 


X 


PEEFACE. 


society if it were constituted on the same principles ? It would 
bo plunged into anarchy in a week. 

One of our judges, not long ago, refused to extend the 
protection of the law to a child who had been ill-treated at 
school. If a party of navvies had given him a licking, and 
lie had brought the case before a magistrate, what would he 
have thought if the magistrate had refused to protect him, on 
the ground that if such cases were brought before him he might 
have fifty a-day from one town only ? 

** Now I agree with you that a constant supervision of the 
master is not desirable or possible — and that telling tales, or 
constantly referring to the master for protection, would only 
produce ill-will and worse treatment. 

‘‘If I rightly understand your book, it is an effort to improve 
the condition of schools by improving the tone of morality and 
public opinion in them. But your book contains the most in- 
dubitable proofs that the condition of the younger boys at public 
schools, except under the rare dictatorship of an Old Brooke, is 
one uf great hardship and suffering. 

“A timid and nervous boy is from morning till night in a 
state of bodily fear. He is constantly tormented when trying 
to learn his lessons. His play-hours are occupied in fagging, in 
a horrid funk of cricket-balls and foot-balls, and the violent sport 
of creatures who, to him, are giants. He goes to his bed 
in fear and trembling, — worse than the reality of the rough 
treatment to which he is perhaps subjected. 

“ I believe there is only one complete remedy. It is not in 
magisterial supervision ; nor in telling tales ; nor in raising the 
tone of public opinion among schoolboys — but’ in i — ; separation 
of boys of different ages into different schools, 

“ There should be at least three different classes of schools, — 
the first for boys from nine to twelve ; the second for boys from 
twelve to fifteen ; the third for those above fifteen. And these 
schools should be in different localities. 


PKEFACE. 


XI 


** There ought to be a certain amount of supervision by the 
master at those times when there are special occasions for bully- 
ing, e.^. in the long winter evenings, and when the boys ai-e 
congregated together in the bedrooms. Surely it caniKt be an 
impossibility to keep order, and protect the weak at such times. 
Whatever evils might arise from supervision, they could hardly 
be greater than those produced by a system which divides boys 
into despots and slaves, 

“ Ever yours, very truly, 

F.D.” 

The question of how to adapt English public school 
education to nervous and sensitive boys (often the 
highest and noblest subjects which that education has 
to deal with) ought to be looked at from every point of 
view.* I therefore add a few extracts from the letter 
of an old friend and schoolfellow, than whom no man 
in England is better able to speak on the subject : — 

‘‘ What^s the use of sorting the boys by ages, unless you do 
BO by strength : and wl.o are often the real bullies ? The strong 
young dog of fourteen, while the victim may be one year or two 

years older I deny the fact about the bedrooms : there is 

trouble at times, and always will be ; but so there is in nurseries ; 
— my little girl, who looks like an angel, was bullying the 
smallest twice to-day. 


* For those who believe with me in public school education, the fact stated in the 
following extract from a note of Mr. G. De Bunsen, will be hailed with pleasure, 
especially now that our alliance with Prussia (the most natural and healthy 
European alliance for Protestant England) is likely to be so much stronger and 
deeper than heretofore. Speaking of this book, he says, — “ The author is mistaken 
“ in saying that public schools, in the English sense, are peculiar to England. 
“ Schul Pforte (in the Prussian province of Saxony) is similar in antiquity and 
“ institutions. 1 like his book ail the more for having been there for live years.*’ 


XU 


PREFACE. 


♦‘Bullying must be fought with in other ways, — ^by getting 
not only the Sixth to put it down, but the lower fellows to scorn 
it, and by eradicating mercilessly the incorrigible j and a master 
who really cares for his fellows is pretty sure to know instinctively 
who in his house are likely to be bullied, and, knowing a fellow 
to be really victimised and harassed, I am sure that he can stop 
it if he is resolved. There are many kinds of annoyance — 
sometimes of real cutting persecution for righteousness’ sake — 
that he can’t stop ; no more could all the ushers in the woi-ld ; 
but he can do very much in many ways to make the shafts of 
the wicked pointless. 

“ But though, for quite other reasons, I don’t like to see very 
young boys launched at a public school, and though I don’t 
deny (I wish I could) the existence from time to time of bully- 
ing, I deny its being a constant condition of school life, and still 
more, the possibility of meeting it by the means proposed. ...” 

“ I don’t wish to understate the amount of bullying that goes 
on, but my conviction is that it must be fought, like all school 
evils, but it more than any, by dynamics rather than me- 
chanics, by getting the fellows to respect themselves and one 
another, rather than by sitting by them with a thick stick.” 

And now, having broken my resolution never to 
write a Preface, there are just two or three things 
which I should like to say a word about. 

Several persons, for whose judgment I have the 
highest respect, while saying very kind things about 
this book, have added, that the great fault of it is, “ too 
much preaching ; ” but they hope I shall amend in this 
matter should I ever write again. Now this I most 
distinctly decline to do. Why, my whole object in 
writing at all was to get the chance of preaching! 


PKEFACE. 


xiii 

When a man comes to my time of life and has his 
bread to make, and very little time to spare, is it likely 
that he will spend almost the whole of his yearly vaca- 
tion in writing a story just to amuse people ? I think 
not. At any rate, I wouldn’t do so myself. 

The fact is, that I can scarcely ever call on one of 
my contemporaries now-a-days without running across 
a boy already at school, or just ready to go there, whose 
bright looks and supple limbs remind me of his father, 
and our first meeting in old times. I can scarcely 
keep the Latin Grammar out of my own house any 
longer; and the sight of sons, nephews, and godsons, 
playing trap-bat-and-ball, and reading " Eobinson 
Crusoe,” makes one ask oneself, whether there isn’t 
something one would like to say to them before they 
take their first plunge into the stream of life, away 
from their own homes, or while they are yet shivering 
after the first plunge. My sole object in writing was 
to preach to boys : if ever I write again, it will be to 
preach to some other age. I can’t see that a man has 
any business to write at all unless he has something 
which he thoroughly believes and wants to preach 
about. If he has this, and the chance of delivering 
himself of it, let him by all means put it in the shape 
in which it will be most likely to get a hearing; but 
let him never be so carried away as to forget that 
preaching is his object. 

A black soldier, in a West Indian regiment, tied up 


XiV 


PEUFACE. 


to receive a couple of dozen, for drunkenness, cried out 
to his captain, who was exhorting him to sobriety in 
future, “ Cap’ll, if you preachee, preachee ; and if floggee, 
floggee ; but no preachee and floggee too ! ” to which 
his captain might have replied, No, Pompey, I must 
preach whenever I see a chance of being listened to, 
which I never did before; so now you must have it 
all together; and I hope you may remember some 
of it.” 

There is one point which has been made by several 
of the Ee viewers who have noticed this book, and it is 
one which, as I am writing a Preface, I cannot pass 
over. They have stated that the Eugby undergraduates 
they remember at the Universities were ^‘a solemn 
array,” “boys turned into men before their time,” “a 
semi-political, semi-sacerdotal fraternity,” &c., giving 
the idea that Arnold turned out a set of young square- 
toes, who wore long-fingered black gloves and talked 
with a snuffle. I can only say that their acquaintance 
must have been limited and exceptional. For I am 
sure that every one who has had anything like large or 
continuous knowledge of boys brought up at Eugby 
from the times of which this book treats down to this 
day, will bear me out in saying, that the mark by 
which you may knoiv them, is, their genial and hearty 
freshness and youthfulness of character. They lose 
nothing of the boy that is worth keeping, but build up 
the man upon it. This is their differentia as Eugby 


PEEFACE. 


XV 


boys ; and if they never had it, or have lost it, it must 
be, not because they were at Rugby, but in spite of their 
having been there ; the stronger it is in them the more 
deeply you may be sure have they drunk of the spirit 
of their school. 

But this boyishness in the highest sense is not 
incompatible with seriousness, — or earnestness, if you 
like the word better,* Quite the contrary. And I can 
well believe that casual observers, who have never been 
intimate with Rugby boys of the true stamp, but have 
met them only in the every-day society of the Univer- 
sities, at wines, breakfast-parties, and the like, may have 
seen a good deal more of the serious or earnest side of 
their characters than of any other. For the more the 
boy was alive in them the less will they have been able 
to conceal their thoughts, or their opinion of what was 
taking place under their noses ; and if the greater part 
of that didn’t square with their notions of what was 
right, very likely they showed pretty clearly that it did 
not, at whatever risk of being taken for young prigs. 
They may be open to the charge of having old heads on 
young shoulders ; I think they are, and always were, as 
long as I can remem b*er; but so long as they have 
young hearts to keep head and shoulders in order, I, for 
one, must think this only a gain. 

And what gave Rugby boys this character, and has 

* ** To him (Arnold) and his admirers we owe the substitution of the word 
• earnest ’ for its predecessor * serious ’ Edinburgh Review, No. 217, p. 183. 


XVI 


PKEFACE. 


enabled the School, I believe, to keep it to this day ? 1 

say fearlessly, — Arnold’s teaching and example — above 
all, that part of it which has been, I will not say 
sneered at, but certainly not approved — his unwearied 
zeal in creating “ moral thoughtfulness ” in every boy 
with whom he came into personal contact. 

He certainly teach us — thank God for it ! — that 
we could not cut our life into slices and say, In this 
slice your actions are indifferent, and you needn’t 
trouble your heads about them one way or another ; 
but in this slice mind what you are about, for they are 
important” — a pretty muddle we should have been in 
had he done so. He taught us that in this wonderful 
world, no boy or man can tell which of his actions is 
indifferent and which not ; that by a thoughtless word 
or look we may lead astray a brother for whom Christ 
died. He taught us that life is a whole, made up of 
actions and thoughts and longings, great and small, 
noble and ignoble ; therefore the only true wisdom for 
boy or man is to bring the whole life into obedience to 
Him whose world we live in, and who has purchased us 
with His blood ; and that whether we eat or drink, or 
whatsoever we do, we are to do all in His name and to 
His glory ; in such teaching, faithfully, as it seems to 
me, following that of Paul of Tarsus, who was in the 
habit of meaning what he said, and who laid down this 
standard for every man and boy in his time. I think 
H lies with those who say that such teaching will not 


PREFACE. Xvii 

do for us now, to show why a teacher in the nineteenth 
century is to preach a lower standard than one in 
the first. 

However, I won’t say that the Eeviewers have not a 
certain plausible ground for their dicta. For a short 
time after a boy has taken up such a life as Arnold 
would have urged upon him, he has a hard timS of it. 
He finds his judgment often at fault, his body and 
intellect running away with him into all sorts of pit- 
falls, and himself coming down with a crash. The 
more seriously he buckles to his work the oftener these 
mischances seem to happen; and in the dust of his 
tumbles and struggles, unless he is a very extraordinary 
boy, he may often be too severe on his comrades, may 
think he sees evil in things innocent, may give offence 
when he never meant it. At this stage of his career, I 
take it, our Eeviewer comes across him, and, not look- 
ing below the surface (as a Eeviewer ought to do), at 
once sets the poor boy down for a prig and a Pharisee, 
when in all likelihood he is one of the humblest and 
truest and most childlike of the Eeviewer’s acquaintance. 

But let our Eeviewer come across him again in a 
year or two, when the “ thoughtful life ” has become 
habitual to him, and fits ’ ‘.m as easily as his skin ; and, 
if he be honest, I think he will see cause to reconsider 
his judgment. For he will find the boy, grown into a 
man, enjoying every-day life as no man can who has 
not found out whence comes the capacity for enjoy- 


xviii 


PELFACE. 


mert, and who is the Giver of the least of the good 
things of this world — humble, as no man can be who 
has not proved his own powerlessness to do right in the 
smallest act which he ever had to do — tolerant, as no 
man can be who does not live daily and hourly in the 
knowledge of how Perfect Love is for ever about his 
path, and bearing with and upholding him. 


CONTE NTa 


PART 1. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BROWN FAMILY, 1 

CHAPTER II. 

THE VEAST ..... 21 


CHAPTER III. 

fiUNOEY WARS AND ALLIANCES 44 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE STAGE COACH 68 

CHAPTER y. 

RUGBY AND FfOI -BALL t7 

CHAPT R VI. 

AFTER THE MATCH Il2 


CHAPTER VII. 


SETILING TO THE COLLAR 


134 


XX 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 158 

CHAPTER IX. 

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS ...184 

PART TI. 

CHAPTER I. 

HOW THE TIDE TURNED 213 

« 

CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW EOT 228 

CHAPTER III. 

ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND 245 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE BIRD-FANCIERS 262 

CHAPTER V. 

THE FIGHT 279 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE FEVER 300 

CHAPTER VII. 

HARRY EAST'S DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES 321 

CHAPTER VIII. 

TOM brown’s last MATCH 341 

CHAPTER IX. 

IINI3 367 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, 


P/.OE 

THE NIGHT FAG 144 

OLD THOMAS IN HIS DEN 155 

TOM DISCOVERED BY VELVETEENS 202 

CLIMBING THE FIR-TREE AFTER THE KESTREL’S NEST . . . . 268 

THE doctor’s COUNSEIi TO YOUNG BROOKE 296 

THE CONVERSATION DURING THE MATCH 351 

CHAIRING TOm'iN THE QUADRANGLE . 366 



TOM BEOWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 



CHAPTER L 

•• I'm the Poet of White Horse Vale, sir. 
With liberal notions under my cap.” 

— Ballad. 

HE Browns have be- 
come illustrious by 
the pen of Thack- 
eray and the pencil 
of Doyle within the 
memory of the young 
gentlemen who are 
now matriculating at 
the Universities. Not- 
withstanding the 
well-merited but late 
fame which has now 
fallen upon them, any one at all acquainted with the 
family must feel that much has yet to be written and 
said before the British nation will be properly sensible 


BY AN OLD BOY. 


B 


2 


THE BROWN FAMILY. 


of how much of its greatness it owes to the Browns 
For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, homespun way 
they have been subduing the earth in most English 
counties, and leaving their mark in American forests 
and Australian uplands. Wherever the fleets and 
armies of England have won renown, there stalwart 
sons of the Browns have done yeoman’s work. With 
the yew bow and cloth-yard shaft at Cressy and 
Agincourt — with the brown bill and pike under the 
brave Lord Willoughby — with culverin and demi-cul- 
verin against Spaniards and Dutchmen — with hand- 
grenade and sabre, and musket and bayonet, under 
Kodney and St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and 
Wellington, they have carried their lives in their hands ; 
getting hard knocks and hard work in plenty, which 
was on the whole what they looked for, and the best 
thing for them ; and little praise or pudding, which in- 
deed they and most of us are better without. Talbots 
and Stanleys, St. Maurs, and such-like folk, have led 
armies, and made laws time out of mind ; but those 
noble families would be somewhat astounded — if the 
accounts ever came to be fairly taken— to find how 
small their work for England has been by the side of 
that of the Browns. 

These latter, indeed, have until the present genera- 
tion rarely been sung by poet, or chronicled by sage. 
They have wanted their “sacer vates,” having been 
too solid to rise to the top by themselves, and not 
having been largely gifted with the talent of catching 
hold of, and holding on tight to, whatever good things 
happened to be going, — the foundation of the fortunes 
of so many noble families. But the world goes on its 


THE BEOWN CHAKACTER. 


3 


way, and the wheel turns, and the wrongs of the Browns, 
like other wrongs, seem in a fair way to get righted. 
And this present writer having for many years of his 
life been dT devout Brown- worshipper, and moreover 
liaving the honour of being nearly connected with an 
eminently respectable branch of the great Brown family, 
is anxious, so far as in him lies, to help the wheel over, 
and throw his stone on to the pile. 

However, gentle reader, or simple reader, whichever 
you may be, lest you should be led to waste your 
precious time upon these pages, I make so bold as at 
once to tell you the sort of folk you’U have to meet 
and put up with, if you and I are to jog on comfortably 
together. You shall hear at once what sort of folk the 
Browns are, at least my branch of them ; and then if 
you don’t like the sort, why, cut the concern at once, 
and let you and I cry quits before either of us can 
grumble at the other. 

In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. 
One may question their wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but 
about their fight there can* be no question. Wherever 
hard knocks of any kind, visible or invisible, are going, 
there the Brown who is nearest must shove in his car- 
case. And these carcases for the most part answer 
very well to the characteristic propensity ; they are a 
square-headed and snake-necked generation, broad in 
the shoulder, deep in the chest and thin in the flank, 
carrying no lumber. Then for clanship, they are as 
bad as Highlanders ; it is amazing the belief they have 
in one another. With them there is nothing like the 
Browns, to the third and fourth generation. “Blood 
is thicker than water,” is one of their pet sayings. 

B 2 


4 


THE BROWN FAMILY CHARACTERISTICS. 


They can’t be happy unless they are always meeting 
one another. Never were such people for family 
gatherings, which, were j^ou a stranger, or sensitive, 
you might tlunk had better not have been gathered 
together. For during the whole time of their being 
together they luxuriate in telling one another their 
minds on whatever subject turns up; and their minds 
are wonderfully antagonist, and all their opinions are 
downright beliefs. Till you’ve been among them some 
time and understand them, you can’t think but that they 
are quarrelling. Not a bit of it ; they love and respect 
one another ten times the more after a good set family 
arguing bout, and go back, one to his curacy, another 
to his chambers, and another to his regiment, freshened 
for work, and more than ever convinced that the Browns 
are the height of company. 

This family training too, combined with their turn 
for combativeness, makes them eminently quixotic. 
They can’t let anything alone which they think going 
wrong. They must speak their mind about it, annoying 
all easy-going folk ; and spend their time and money 
in having a tinker at it, however hopeless the job. It 
is an impossibility to a Brovvn to leave the most dis- 
reputable lame dog on the other side of a stile. Most 
other folk get tired of such work. The old Browns, 
with red faces, white whiskers, and bald heads, go on 
believing and fighting to a green old age. They have 
always a crotchet going, till the old man with the 
scythe reaps and garners them away for troublesome 
old boys as they are. 

And the most provoking thing is, that no failures 
knock them up or make them hold their hands, or 


TOM brown’s birthplace. 


5 


think you, or me, or other sane people in the right. 
Failures slide off them like July rain off a duck’s back 
feathers. Jem and his whole family turn out bad, and 
cheat them one week, and the next they are doing the 
same thing for Jack ; and when he goes to the tread- 
mill, and his wife and children to the workhouse, they 
will be on the look-out for Bill to take his place. 

However, it is time for us to get from the general to 
the particular; so, leaving the great army of Browns, 
who are scattered over the whole empire on which the 
sun never sets, and whose general diffusion I take to be 
the chief cause of that empire’s stability, let us at once 
fix our attention upon the small nest of Browns in 
which our hero was hatched, and which dwelt in that 
portion of the royal county of Berks which is called 
the Vale of White Horse. 

Most of you have probably travelled down the Great 
Western Bail way as far as Swindon. Those of you 
who did so with their e3ms open, have been aware, soon 
after leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalk 
hills running parallel with the railway on the left-hand 
side as you go down, and distant some two or three 
miles, more or less, from the line. ' The highest point 
in the range is the White Horse Hill, which you come in 
front of just before you stop at the Shrivenham station. 
If you love English scenery, and have a few hours to 
spare, you can’t do better, the next time you pass, than 
stop at the Farringdon-road or Shrivenh: m station, and 
make your way to that highest point. And those who 
care for the vague old stories that haunt country sides 
all about England, will not, if they are wise, be content 
with only a few hours’ stay ; for, glorious as the view is 


6 


THE OLD BOY MOURNETH 


the neighbourhood is yet more interesting for its relics 
of bygone times. I only know two English neighbour- 
hoods thoroughly, and in each, within a circle of five 
miles, there is enough of interest and beauty to last 
any reasonable man his life. I believe this to be the 
case almost throughout the country ; but each has a 
special attraction, and none can be richer than the one I 
am speaking of and going to introduce you to very parti- 
cularly ; for on this subject I must be prosy ; so those that 
don’t care for England in detail may ^kip the chapter. 

0 young England ! young England ! You who are 
born into these racing railroad times, when there’s a 
Great Exhibition, or some monster sight, every year ; 
and you can get over a couple of thousand miles of 
ground for three pound ten, in a five weeks’ holiday ; 
why don’t you know more of your own birthplaces ? 
You’re all in the ends of the earth, it seems to me, 
as soon as you get your necks out of the educational 
collar, for midsummer holidays, long vacations, or 
what not. Going round Ireland, with a return ticket, 
in a fortniglit ; dropping your copies of Tennyson on 
the tops of Swiss mountains; or pulling down the 
Danube in Oxford racing-boats. And when you get 
home for a quiet fortnight, you turn the steam off', and 
lie on your backs in the paternal garden, surrounded by 
the last batch of books from Mudie’s library, and half 
bored to death. Well, well ! I know it has its good 
side. You all patter French more or less, and perhaps 
German ; you have seen men and cities, no doubt, and 
have your opinions, such as they are, about schools of 
painting, high art, and all that ; have seen the pictures 
at Dresden and the Louvre, and know the taste of sour 


OVER YOUNG ENGLAND. 


7 


krout. All I say is, you don’t know your own lanes 
and woods and fields. Though you may be chock-full 
of science, not one in twenty of you knows where to 
find the wood-sorrel, or bee-orchis which grows in the 
next wood or on the down three miles off, or what the 
bog-bean and wood-sage are good for. And as for the 
country legends, the stories of the old gable-ended 
farmhouses, the place where the last skirmish was 
fought in the civil wars, where the parish butts stood, 
where the last highwayman turned to bay, where the 
last ghost was laid by the parson, they’re gone out of 
date altogether. 

Now, in my time, when we got home by the old coach 
which put us down at the cross-roads with our boxes, 
the first day of the holidays, and liad been driven off by 
the family coachman, singing “ Dulce Domum ” at the 
top of our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black 
Monday came round. We had to cut out our own 
amusements within a walk or ride of home. And so 
we got to know all the country folk, and their ways 
and songs and stories by heart; and went over the 
fields, and woods, and hills, again and again, till we 
made friends of them all. We were Berkshire, or 
Gloucestershire, or Yorkshire boys, and you’re young 
cosmopolites, belonging to all counties and no countries. 
No doubt it’s all right — I dare say it is. This is the day 
of large views and glorious humanity, and all that ; but 
I wish backsword play hadn’t gone out in the Vale of 
White Horse, and that that confounded Great Western 
hadn’t carried away Alfred’s Hill to make an embankment. 

But to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the 
country in which the first scenes of this true and in- 


8 


VALES IN GENERAL. 


teresting story are laid. As I said, the Great Western 
now runs right through it, and it is a land of large rich 
pastures, bounded by fox-fences, and covered with fine 
hedgerow timber, with here and there -a nice little gorse 
or spinney, where abideth poor Charley, having no other 
cover to which to betake himself for miles and miles, when 
pushed out some fine November morning by the Old 
Berkshire. Those who have been there, and well 
mounted, only know how he and the stanch little pack 
who dash after him — heads high and sterns low with 
a breast-high scent — can consume the ground at such 
times. There being little plough-land and few woods, 
the vale is only an average sporting country, except 
for hunting. The villages are straggling, queer, old- 
fashioned places, the houses being dropped down with- 
out the least regularity, in nooks and out-of-the-way 
corners by the sides of shadowy lanes and footpaths, 
each with its patch of garden. They are built chiefly 
of good grey stone, and thatclied; though I see that 
within the last year or two the red-brick cottages are 
multiplying, for the vale is beginning to manufacture 
largely both brick and tiles. There are lots of waste 
ground by the side of the roads in every village, 
amounting often to village greens, where feed the pigs 
and ganders of the people; and these roads are old- 
fashioned homely roads, very dirty and badly made, and 
hardly endurable in winter, but still pleasant jog-trot 
roads running through the great pasture lands, dotted 
• here and there with little clumps of thorns, where the 
sleek kine are feeding, with no fence on either side of 
them, and a gate at the end of each field, which makes 
you get out of your gig (if you keep one), and gives 


WHITE HORSE HILL. 


you a chance of looking about you every quarter of a 
mile. 

One of the moralists whom we sat under in my youth, 
— was it the great Eichard Swiveller, or Mr. Stiggins ? 
— says, “We are born in a vale, and must take the con- 
sequences of being found in such a situation.” These 
consequences, I, for one, am ready to encounter. I pity 
people who weren’t born in a vale. I don’t mean a 
flat country, but a vale— that is, a flat country bounded 
by hills. The having your hill always in view, if you 
choose to turn towards him, that’s the essence of a 
vale. There he is for ever in the distance, your friend 
and companion; you never lose him as you do in 
hilly districts. 

And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill! 
There it stands right up above all the rest, nine hundred 
feet above the sea, and the boldest, bravest shape for a 
chalk hill that you ever saw. Let us go up to the top 
of him, and see what is to be found there. Ay, you 
may well wonder and think it odd you never heard of 
this before; but, wonder or not, as you please, there 
are hundreds of such things lying about England, which 
wiser folk than you kuow nothing of, and care nothing 
for. Yes, it’s a magnificent Eoman camp, and no mis- 
take, with gates, and ditch, and mounds, all as com- 
plete as it was twenty years after the strong old rogues 
left it. Here, right up on the highest point, from 
which they say you can see eleven counties, they 
trenched round all the table-land, some twelve or 
fourteen acres, as was their custom, for they couldn’t 
bear anybody to overlook them, and made their eyry. 
The ground falls away rapidly on all sides. AVas there 


10 


BATTLE OF ASHDOWN. 


ever such turf in the whole world? You sink up to 
your ankles at every step, and yet the spring of it is 
delicious. There is always a breeze in the “ camp,"* as 
it is called ; and here it lies just as the Eomans left it, 
except that cairn on the east side left by her Majesty"s 
corps of Sappers and Miners the other day, when they 
and the Engineer officer had finished their sojourn 
there, and their surveys for the Ordnance map of 
Berkshire, It is altogether a place that you won’t 
forget — a place to open a man’s soul and make him 
prophesy^ :*s he looks down on that great Vale spread 
out as the garden of the Lord before him, and wave on 
wave of the mysterious downs behind ; and to the right 
and left the chalk hills running away into the distance 
along which he can trace for miles the old Boman 
road, *^the Eidgeway” (“the Eudge,” as the country 
folk call it), keeping straight along the highest back of 
the hills; — such a place as Balak brought Balaam to, 
and told him to prophesy against the people in the 
valley beneath. And he could not, neither shall you, 
for they are a people of the Lord who abide there. 

And now we leave the camp, and descend towards 
the west, and are on the Ashdown. We are treadinsr 
on heroes. It is sacred ground for Englishmen, more 
sacred than all but one or two fields where their bones 
lie whitening. For this is the actual place where our 
Alfred won his great battle, the battle of Ashdown 
(“^scendum” in the chroniclers), which broke the 
Danish power, and made England a Christian land. 
The Danes held the camp and the slope where we are 
standing — the whole crown of the hill, in fact. “ The 
heathen had beforehand seized the higher ground,” as 


BATTLE OF ASHDOWN. 


11 


old Assor says, having wasted everything behind them 
from London, and being just ready to burst down on 
the fair vale, Alfred’s own birthplace and heritage. 
And up the heights came the Saxons, as they did at 
the Alma. “ The Christians led up their line from the 
lower ground. There stood also on that same spot a 
single thorn-tree,- marvellous stumpy (which we our- 
selves with our very own eyes have seen).” Bless the 
old chronicler ! does he think nobody ever saw the 

single thorn-tree” but himself? Why, there it 
stands to this very day, just on the edge of the slope, 
and I saw it not three weeks since ; an old single thorn- 
tree, “ marvellous stumpy.” At least if it isn’t the 
same tree, it ought to have been, for it’s just in the 
place where the battle must have been won or lost — 
** around which, as I was saying, the two lines of foemen 
came together in battle with a huge shout. And in 
this place, one of the two kings of the heathen, and 
five of his earls fell down and died, and many thou- 
sands of the heathen side in the same place.” ^ After 
which crowning mercy, the pious king, that there might 
never be wanting a sign and a memorial to the country 
side, carved out on the northern side of the chalk hill, 
under the camp, where it is almost precipitous, the 
great Saxon "white horse, which he who will may see 

I “Pagani editiorem locum praeoccupaverant. Christiani ab infe- 
riori loco aciem dirigebant. Erat quoque in eodem loco unica spinosa 
arbor, brevis admodum (quam nos i])si nostris pro]>riis oculis vidi- 
mus). Circa quam ergo liostiles inter se acies cum ingenti clamore 
hostiliter conveniunt. Quo in loco alter de duobus Fagaiiuium regibus 
et quinque comites occisi occubuerunt, et multa millia Paganse partis 
in eodem loco. Cecidit illic ergo Boegsceg Ilex, et Sidroc ille senex 
comes, et Sidroc Junior comes, et Obsbern comes,” &c. — Annales 
Rerum Gestarum ^Ifredi Magniy Auctore Asserio, Recensuit F/an- 
cisctis fVise. Oxford, 1722, p. 23. 


12 


dkagon’s hill. 


from the railway, and which gives its name to the 
vale, over which it has looked these thousand years and 
more. 

Eight down below the White Horse is a curious 
deep and broad gulley called tlie Manger,” into one 
side of which the hills fall with a series of the most 
lovely sweeping curves, known as the Giant’s Stairs ; ’ 
they are not a bit like stairs, but I never saw anything 
like them anywhere else, with their short green turf, 
and tender blue-bells, and gossamer and thistle-down 
gleaming in the sun, and the sheep-paths running along 
their sides like ruled lines. 

The other side of the Manger is formed by the Dra- 
gon’s Hill, a curious little round self-confident fellow, 
thrown forward from the range, and utterly unlike every- 
thing round him. On this hill some deliverer of 
mankind, St. George, the country folks used to tell me, 
killed a dragon. Whether it were St. George, I cannot 
say ; but surely a dragon was killed there, for you may 
see the marks yet where his blood ran down, and more 
by token the place where it ran down is the easiest way 
up the hillside. 

Passing along the Eidgeway to the west for about a 
mile, we come to a little clump of young beech and firs, 
with a growth of thorn and privet underwood. Here 
you may find nests of the strong down partridge and 
peewit, but take care that the keeper isn’t down upon 
you; and in the middle of it is an old cromlech, a 
huge fiat stone raised on seven or eight others, and led 
up to by a path, with large single stones set up on each 
side. This is Wayland Smith’s cave, a place of classic 
fame now; but as Sir Walter has touched it, I may as 


THE “SEVEN BARROWS ” FARM. 13 

well let it alone, and refer you to “ Kenilworth ” for 
the legend. 

The thick deep wood which you see in the hollow 
about a mile off*, surrounds Ashdown Park, built by 
Inigo Jones. Four broad alleys are cut through the 
wood from circumference to centre, and each leads to 
one face of the house. The mystery of the downs 
hangs about house and wood, as they stand there alone, 
so unlike all around, with the green slopes studded 
with great stones just about this part, stretching away 
on all sides. It was a wise Lord Craven, I think, who 
pitched his tent there. 

Passing along the Pidgeway to the east, we soon 
come to cultivated land. The downs, strictly so called, 
are no more ; Lincolnshire farmers have been imported, 
and the long fresh slopes are sheep-waUvs no more, but 
grow famous turnips and barley. One of those im- 
provers lives over there at the “ Seven Barrows'" farm, 
another mystery of the great downs. There are the 
barrows still, solemn and silent, like ships in the calm 
sea, the sepulchres of some sons of men. But of 
whom ? It is three miles from the White Horse, too 
far for the slain of Ashdown to be buried there — who 
shall say what heroes are waiting there ? But we must 
get down into the vale again, and so away by the Great 
Western Railway to town, for time and the printer's 
devil press, and it is a terrible long and slippery descent, 
and a shocking bad road. At the bottom, however, 
there is a pleasant public, whereat we must really take 
a modest quencher, for the down here is a provocative 
of thirst. So we pull up under an old oak which stands 
before the door. 


14 


TUE BLOWI^sG bXOKE. 


“ What is the name of your hill, landlord ? " 

Blawing Stwun Hill, sir, to be sure/' 

[Header. “ Sturm ? ** 

Author. Stone, stupid— the Blowing Stone/ 

“And of your house ? I can’t make out the sign.” 

“ Blawing Stwun, sir,” says the landlord, pouring out 
his old ale from a Toby-Philpot jug, with a melodi- 
ous crash, into the long-necked glass. 

“What queer names ! ” say we, sighing at the end of 
our draught, andliolding out the glass to be replenished. 

“ Be an’t queer at all, as I can see, sir,” says mine 
host, handing back our glass, “ seeing as this here is the 
Blawing Stwun his self,” putting his hand on a square 
lump of stone some three feet and a half high, per- 
forated with two or three queer holes, like petrified ante- 
diluvian rat-holes, which lies there close under the oak, 
under our very nose. We are more than ever puzzled, 
and drink our second glass of ale wondering what will 
come next. “ Like to hear un, sir ? ” says mine host, 
setting down Toby Philpot on the tray, and resting 
both hands on the “ Stwun.” We are ready for any- 
thing; and he, without waiting for a reply, applies his 
mouth to one of the rat-holes. Something must come 
of it, if he doesn’t burst. Good heavens 1 I hope he 
has no apoplectic tendencies. Yes, here it comes, sure 
enough, a grewsome sound between a moan and a roar, 
and spreads itself away over the valley, and up the 
hillside, and into the woods at the back of the house 
—a ghost-like, awful voice. “Um do say, sir,” says 
mine host rising purple-fiiced, while the moan is still 
coming out of the “Stwun,” “as they used in old times 
to warn the country-side, by blawing the stwun when 


KINGSTONE LISLE. 


15 


the enemy was acomin* — and as how folks could make 
un heered them for seven mile round ; leastways, so I’ve 
heered Lawyer Smith say, and he knows a smart sight 
about them old times.” We can hardly swallow 
Lawyer Smith’s seven miles ; but cpuld the blowing of 
the stone have been a summons, a sort of sending the 
fiery cross round the neighbourhood in the old times ? 
What old times ? Who knows ? We pay for our 
beer, and are.thankfuL 

‘"And what’s the name of the village just below, 
landlord ? ” 

“ Kingstone Lisle, sir.” 

“ Fine plantations you’ve got ’ ere ? ” 

"Yes, sir, the Squire’s ’mazin’ f -nd of trees and such 
like.” 

"No wonder. He’s got some real beauties to be 
fond of. Good day, landlord.” 

" Good day, sir, and a pleasant ride to ’e.** 

And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for 
readers, have you had enough? Will you give in at 
once, and say you’re convinced, and let me begin my 
story, or will you have more of it? Remember, I’ve 
only been over a little bit of the hillside yet — what you 
could ride round easily on your ponies in an hour. 
I’m only just come down into the vale, by Blowing 
Stone Hill, and if I once begin about the vale, what’s 
to stop me ? You’ll have to hear all about Wantage, 
the birthplace of Alfred, and Farringdon, which held 
out so long for Charles the First (the vale was near 
Oxford, and dreadfully malignant ; full of Throg- 
mortons, Puseys, and Pyes, and such like, and their 
brawny retainers). Did you ever read Thomas In- 


16 


FARXllNGDON AND PUSEY. 


goldsby’s ‘‘Legend of Hamilton Tigbe?” If you 
haven't you ought to have. Well, Farringdon is where 
he lived before he went to sea; his real name was 
Hampden Pye, and the Pyes were the great folk at 
Farringdon. Then there's Pusey, you've heard of 
the Pusey horn, which King Canute gave to the Pusey s 
of that day, and which the gallant old squire, lately 
gone to his rest (whom Berkshire freeholders turned 
out of last Parliament, to their eternal- disgrace, for 
voting according to his conscience), used to bring out 
on high days, holidays, and bonfire nights. And 
the splendid old cross church at Uffington, the Uffingas 
town ; — the whole country-side teems with Saxon names 
and memories I And the old moated grange at Comp- 
ton, nestled close under the hillside, where twenty 
Marianas may have lived, with its bright water- 
lilies in the moat, and its yew walk, “the cloister 
walk,” and its peerless terraced gardens. There they 
all are, and twenty things besides ; for those who care 
about them, and have eyes. And these are the sort of 
things you may find, I believe, every one of you, in 
any common English country neighbourhood. 

Will you look for them under your own noses, or 
will you not? Well, well; I've done what I can to 
make you, and if you wiU go gadding over half Europe 
now every holidays, I can’t help it. I was born and 
bred a ‘-west-countryman, thank God I a Wessex man, 
a citizen of the noblest Saxon kingdom of Wessex, a 
regular, “Angular Saxon,” the very soul of me “ad- 
scriptus glebe.” There's nothing like the old country- 
side for me, and no music like the twang of the real old 
Saxon tongue, as one gets it fresh from the veritable 


SQUIEE BROWN AND HIS HOUSEHOLD. 17 

ohaw in the White Horse Vale: and I say with 
“ Gaarge Eidler,” the old west-country yeoman, 

“ThrQO aall the waarld owld Gaarge would bwoast. 

Commend me to merry owld England mwoast : 

While vools gwoes prating vur and nigh, 

We stwops at whum, my dog and I.” 

Here at any rate lived and stopped at home, Squire 
Brown. J.P. for the county of Berks, in a village 
near the foot of the White Horse range. And here 
he dealt out justice and mercy in a rough way, and 
begat sons and daughters, and hunted the fox, and 
grumbled at the badness of the roads and the times. 
And his wife dealt out stockings, and calico shirts, and 
smock frocks, and comforting drinks to the old folks 
with the “ rheum atiz.” and good counsel to all; and 
kept the coal and clothes clubs going, for yule tide, 
when the bands of mummers came round, dressed out 
in ribbons and coloured paper caps, and stamped round 
the Squire’s kitchen, repeating in true sing-song ver- 
nacular the legend of St. George and his fight, and 
the ten-pound Doctor, who plays his part at healing 
the Saint — a relic, I believe, of the old middle-age 
mysteries. It was the first diamatic representation 
which greeted the eyes of little Tom, who was brought 
down into the kitchen by his nurse to witness it, at the 
mature age of three yeais. Tom was the eldest child 
of his parents, and from his earliest babyhood exhibited 
the family characteristics in great strength. He was 
a hearty strong boy from the first, given to fighting 
with and escaping from his nurse, and fraternizing with 
all the village boys, with whom he made expeditions all 
round the neighbourhood. And here in the quiet old- 

0 


18 


THE OLD BOY ABUSETH MOVING ON. 


fashioned country village, under the shadow of the 
everlasting hills, Tom Brown was reared, and never 
left it till he went first to school when nearly eight 
years of age. — for in those days change of air twice 
a year was not thought absolutely necessary for the 
health of all Her Majesty’s lieges. 

I have been credibly informed, and am inclined to 
believe, that the various Boards of Directors of Eailway 
Companies, those gigantic jobbers and bribers, wliile 
quarrelling about everything else, agreed together 
some ten years back to buy up the learned profession 
of Medicine, body and soul. To this end they set 
apart several millions of money, which the}" continually 
distribute judiciously amongst the Doctors, stipulating 
only this one thing, that they shall prescribe change 
of air to every patient who can pay, or borrow money 
to pay, a railway fare, and see their prescription carried 
out. If it be not for this, why is it that none of us 
can be well at home for a year together? It wasn’t 
so twenty years ago, — not a bit of it. The Browns 
didn’t go out of the county once in five years. A visit 
to Beading or Abingdon twice a-year, at Assizes or 
Quarter Sessions, which the Squire made on his horse 
with a pair of saddle-bags containing his wardrobe — 
a stay of a day or two at some country neighbour’s — 
or an expedition to a county ball, or the yeomanry 
review — made up the sum of the Brown locomotion 
in most years. A stray Brown from some distant 
county dropped in every now and then ; or from Oxford, 
on grave nag, an old don, contemporary of the Squire ; 
and were looked upon by the Brown household and 
the villagers with the same sorb of feeling with which 




TOM BROWN WISHETH TO MOVE ON. 19 

we BOW regard a mao who has crossed the Eocky 
Mountains, or launched a boat on the Great Lake in 
Central Africa. The White Horse Vale, remember, was 
traversed by no great road ; nothing but country 
parish roads, and these very bad. Only one coach ran 
there, and this one only from Wantage to London, so 
that the western part of the Vale was without regular 
means of moving on, and certainly didn’t seem to want 
them. There was the canal, by the way, which supplied 
the country side with coal, and up and down which 
continually went the long barges, with the big black 
men lounging by the side of the horses along the towing 
path, and the women in bright coloured handkerchiefs 
standing in the sterns steering. Standing T say, but you 
could never see whether they were standing or sitting, 
all but their heads and shoulders being out of sight in 
the cozy little cabins which occupied some eight feet of 
the stern, and which Tom Brown pictured to himself as 
the most desirable of residences. His nurse told him 
tliat those good-natured -looking women were in the 
constant habit of enticing children into the barges and 
taking them up to London and selling them, which Tom 
wouldn’t believe, and which made him resolve as, soon 
as possible to accept the oft-protfered invitation of these 
sirens to “ young Master,” to come in and have a ride. 
But as yet the nurse was too much for Tom. 

Yet why should I after all abuse the gadabout pro- 
pensities of my countrymen ? We are a vagabond 
nation now, that’s certain, for better for worse. I am 
a vagabond ; T have been away from home no less than 
five distinct times rn the last year. The Queen sets us 
the example — we are moving on from top to bottom. 

c 2 


20 


THE OLD BOY APPROVETH MOVING ON. 


Little dirty Jack, who abides in Clement’s Inn gate- 
way, and blacks my boots for a penny, takes his month’s 
hop-picking every year as a matter of course. Why 
shouldn’t he? I’m delighted at it. I love vagabonds, 
only I prefer poor to rich ones ; — couriers and ladies’ 
maids, imperials and travelling carriages, are an abomi- 
nation unto me — I cannot away with them. But for 
dirty Jack, and every good fellow who, in the words of 
the capital Brench song, moves about, 

** Comme le limagon, 

Portarit tout sou bagage, 

Ses meubles, sa inaisou,’* 

on his own back, why, good luck to them, and many 
a merry road-side adventure, and steaming supper in 
the chimney corners of road-side inns, Swiss chalets, 
Hottentot kraals, or wherever else they like to go. So 
having succeeded in contradicting myself in my first 
chapter, (which gives me great hopes that you will all 
go on, and think me a good fellow notwithstanding my 
crotchet,) ,I shall here shut up for the present, and 
consider my ways ; having resolved to “ sar’ it out,” 
as we say in the Vale, "‘holus-bolus” just as it comes, 
and then you’ll probably get the truth out of me. 


TOM brown’s early DAYS. 


21 



CHAPTER IL 


THE VEAST. 


“And tlie King com. 
maiideih and forliiddeth, 
that fiom heneelurtli nei* 
ther fairs nor inarkt-ts be 
kept in Church-yards, for 
the lioiiGur of the Church." 
—Statutes: 13 Mdto. I. 
Stat. 11. cap. VI. 


that venerable and 
learned poet 
(whose volu- 
minous works 
we all think 
it the correct 
thing to admire 
and talk about, 
hut don’t read 
often), most 
truly says, " the child is father to the man ; ” a fortiori, 
therefore, he must he father to the hoy. So, as we are 
going at any rate to see Tom Brown through liis boyhood, 
supposing we never get any further, (which, if you show 
a proper sense of the value of this history, there is no 
knowing but what we may,) let us have a look at the 
life and environments of the child, in the quiet country 
village to which we were introduced in the last chapter* 


22 


TOM brown’s NUKSE. 


Tom, as has been already said, was a robust and 
combative urchin, and at the age of four began to 
struggle against the yoke and authority of his nurse. 
That functionary was a good-hearted, tearful, scatter- 
brained girl, lately taken by Tom’s mother. Madam 
Brown, as she was called, from the village school to 
be trained as nurserymaid. Madam Brown was a rare 
trainer of servants, and spent herself freely in the pro- 
fession ; for profession it was, and gave her more 
trouble by half than many people take to earn a good 
income. Her servants were known and sought after 
for miles round. Almost all the girls who attained 
a certain place in the village school were taken by her, 
one or two at a time, as housemaids, laundrymaids, 
nurserymaids, or kitchenmaids, and after a year or 
two’s drilling, were started in life amongst the neigh- 
bouring families, with good principles and wardrobes. 
One of the results of this system "Was the perpetual 
despair of Mrs. Brown’s cook and own maid, who no 
sooner had a notable girl made to their hands, than 
Missus was sure to find a good place for her and send 
her off, taking in fresh importations from the school. 
Another was, that the house was always full of young 
girls, with clean shining faces ; who broke plates and 
scorched linen, but made an atmosphere of cheerful 
homely life about the place, good for every one who 
came within its influence. Mrs. Brown loved young 
people, and in fact human creatures in general, above 
plates and linen. They were more like a lot of elder 
children than servants, and felt to her more as a mother 
or aunt than as a mistress. 

Tom’s nurse was one who took in her instruction 


TOM brown’s first REBELLION. 23 

very slowly, — she seemed to have two left hands and 
no head ; and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longer than 
usual, that she might expend her awkwardness and for- 
getfulness upon those who would not judge and punish 
her too strictly for them. 

Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the im- 
memorial habit of the village, to christen children 
either by Bible names, or by those of the cardinal and 
other virtues ; so that one was for ever hearing in the 
village street, or on the green, shrill sounds of, “ Pru- 
dence I Prudence! thee cum’ out o’ the gutter;” or, 
“ Mercy I d’rat the girl, what hist thee a doin’ wi’ 
little Faith ? ” and there were Euths, Eachels, Keziahs, 
in every corner. The same with the boys ; they were 
Benjamins, Jacobs, Noahs, Enochs. I suppose the 
custom has come down from Puritan times — there it is 
at any rate, very strong still in the Vale. 

Well, from early morn till dewy eve, when she had 
it out of him in the cold tub before putting him to bed, 
Charity and Tom were pitted against one another. 
Physical power was as yet on the side of Charity, but 
she hadn’t a chance with him wherever head-work 
was wanted. This war of independence began every 
morning before breakfast, when Charity escorted her 
charge to a neighbouring farm-house which supplied 
the Browns, and where, by his mother’s wish. Master 
Tom went to drink whey, before breakfast. Tom had 
no sort of objection to whey, but he had a decided liking 
for curds, which were forbidden as unwholesome, and 
there was seldom a morning that he did not manage to 
secure a handful of hard curds, in defiance of Charity 
and of the farmer’s wife. The latter good soul was 


24 TOM bkown’s castle of eefuge. 

a gaunt angular woman, who with an old black bonnet 
on the top of her head, the strings dangling about her 
shoulders, and her gown tucked through her pocket- 
holes, went clattering about the dairy, cheese-room, 
and yard, in high pattens. Charity was some sort of 
niece of the old lady’s, and was consequently free of 
the farm-house and garden, into which she could not 
resist going for the purposes of gossip and flirtation 
with the heir-apparent, who was a dawdling fellow, 
never out at work as he ought to have been. The 
moment Charity had found her cousin, or any other 
occupation, Tom would slip away ; and in a minute 
shrill cries would be heard from the dairy, “ Charity, 
Charity, thee lazy huzzy, where hist ? ” and Tom would 
break cover, hands and mouth full of curds, and take 
refuge on the shaky surface of the great muck reser- 
voir in the middle of the yard, disturbing the repose of 
the great pigs. Here he was in safety, as no grown 
person could follow without getting over their knees; 
and the luckless Charity, while her aunt scolded her 
from the dairy-door, for being alius hankering about 
arter our Willum, instead of minding Master Tom,” 
would descend from threats to coaxing, to lure Tom out 
of the muck, which was rising over his shoes and would 
soon tell a tale on his stockings, for which she would be 
sure to catch it from missus’s maid. 

Tom had two abettors in the shape of a couple of old 
boys, Noah and Benjamin by name, who defended him 
from Charity, and expended much time upon his educa- 
tion. They were both of them retired servants of former 
generations of the Browns. Noah Crooke was a keen 
diy old man of almost ninety, but still able to totter 


TOM brown’s abettors — NOAH. 25 

about. He talked to Tom quite as if he were one of 
his own family, and indeed had long completely iden- 
tified the Browns with himself. In some remote age 
he had been the attendant of a Miss Brown, and had 
conveyed her about the country on a pillion. He had 
a little round picture of the identical grey horse, capa- 
risoned with the identical pillion, before which he used to 
do a sort of fetish worship, and abuse turnpike-roads and 
carriages. He wore an old full-bottomed wig, the gift 
of some dandy old Brown whom he had valeted in the 
middle of last century, which habiliment Master Tom 
looked upon with considerable respect, not to say fear ; 
and indeed his whole feeling towards Noah was strongly 
tainted with awe; and when the old gentleman was 
gathered to his fathers, Tom’s lamentation over him 
was not unaccompanied by a certain joy at having seen 
the last of the wig : “ Poor old Noah, dead and gone,” 
said he, “ Tom Brown so sorry ! Put him in the coffin, 
wig and all.” 

But old Benjy was young Master’s real delight and 
refuge. He was a youth by the side of Noah, scarce 
seventy years old. A cheery, humorous, kind-hearted 
old man, full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and of all 
sorts of helpful ways for young and old, but above all 
for children. It was he who bent the first pin, with 
which Tom extracted his first stickleback out of 
“ Pebbly Brook,” the little stream which ran through 
the village. The first stickleback was a splendid 
fellow, with fabulous red and blue gills. Tom kept 
him in a small basin till the day of his death, and 
became a fisherman from that day. Within a month 
from the taking of the first stickleback, Benjy had 


26 


TOM brown's abettors — BENJY. 


carried off our hero to the canal, in defiance of Charity, 
and between them, after a whole afternoon’s popjoying, 
they had caught three or four small coarse fish and a 
perch, averaging perhaps two and a half ounces each, 
which Tom bore home in rapture to his mother as 
a precious gift, and she received like a true mother with 
equal rapture, instructing the cook nevertheless, in a 
private interview, not to prepare the same for the 
Squire’s dinner. Charity had appealed against old 
Benjy in the meantime, representing the dangers of 
the canal banks; hut Mrs. Brown seeing the hoy’s 
inaptitude for female guidance, had decided in Benjy’a 
favour, and from thenceforth the old man was Tom’s 
dry nurse. And as they sat by, the canal watching 
their little green and white float, Benjy would instruct 
him in the doings of deceased Browns. How his 
grandfather, in the early days of the great war, when 
there was much distress and crime in the Vale, and the 
magistrates had been threatened by the mob, had ridden 
in with a big stick in his hand, and held the Petty 
Sessions by himself. How his great uncle, the Kector, 
had encountered and laid the last ghost, who had 
frightened the old women, male and female, of the 
parish out of their senses, and who turned out to be 
the blacksmith’s apprentice, disguised in drink and 
a white sheet. It was Benjy too who saddled Tom’s 
first pony, and instructed him in the mysteries of horse- 
manship, teaching him to throw his weight back and 
keep his hand low ; and who stood chuckling outside 
the door of the girls’ school, when Tom rode his little 
Shetland into the cottage and round the table, where the 
old dame and her pupils were seated at their work. 


OUK VEAST. 


27 


Benjy himself was come of a family distinguished 
in the Vale for their prowess in all athletic games. 
Some half-dozen of his brothers and kinsmen had gone 
to the wars, of whom only one had survived to come 
home,' with a small pension, and three bullets in dif- 
ferent parts of his body ; he had shared Benjy ’s cottage 
till his death, and had left him his old dragoon’s sword 
and pistol, which hung over the mantel-piece, flanked 
by a pair of heavy single-sticks with which Benjy 
himself had won renown long ago as an old gamester, 
against the picked men of Wiltshire and Somersetshire, 
in many a good bout at the revels and pastime of the 
country-side. For he had been a famous back-sword 
man in his young days, and a good wrestler at elbow 
and collar. 

Back-swording and wrestling were the most serious 
holiday pursuits of the Yale — those by which men at- 
tained fame — and each village had its champion. I 
suppose that on the whole, people were less worked 
then than they are now ; at any rate, they seemed to 
have more time and energy for the old pastimes. The 
great times for back-swording came round once a-year 
in each village, at the feast. The Vale "veasts” were 
not the common statute feasts, but much more ancient 
business. They are literally, so far as one can as- 
certain, feasts of the dedication, i.e. they were first 
established in the churchyard on the day on which 
the village church was opened for public worship, which 
was on the wake or festival of the patron Saint, and 
have been held on the same day in every year since 
that time. 

There was no longer any remembrance of why the 


28 


APPROACH OF VEAST-DAY. 


‘‘ veast ” had been instituted, but nevertheless it had a 
pleasant and almost sacred character of its own. For 
it was then that all the children of the village, wherever 
they were scattered, tried to get home for a holiday to 
visit their fathers and mothers and friends, bringing 
with them their wages or some little gift from up the 
country for the old folk. Perhaps for a day or two 
before, but at any rate on “ veast day ” and the day 
after, in our village, you might see strapping healthy 
young men and women from all parts of the country 
going round from house to house in their best clothes, 
and finishing up with a call on Madam Brown, whom 
they would consult as to putting out their earnings to 
the best advantage, or how to expe;id the same best for 
the benefit of the old folk. Every household, however 
poor, managed to raise a “feast-cake” and bottle of 
ginger or raisin wine, which stood on the cottage table 
ready for all comers, and not unlikely to make them 
remember feast time — for feast-cake is very solid, and 
full of huge raisins. Moreover, feast-time was the day 
of reconciliation for the parish. If Job Higgins and 
Hoah Freeman hadn’t spoken for the last six months, 
their “ old women ” would be sure to get it patched up 
by that day. And though there was a good deal of 
drinking and low vice in the booths of an evening, it 
was pretty well confined to those who would have been 
doing the like, “ veast or no veast,” and on the whole, 
the effect was humanizing and Christian. In fact, the 
only reason why this is not the case still, is that gentle-’ 
folk and farmers have taken to other amusements, and 
have, as usual, forgotten the poor. They don’t attend 
the feasts themselves, and call the m disreputable, where- 


EVE: OF VEAST-DAY. 


29 


upon the steadiest of the poor leave them also, and they 
become what they are called. Class amusements, be 
they for dukes or plough-boys, always become nuisances 
and curses to a country. The true charm of cricket 
and hunting is, that they are still more or less sociable 
and universal ; there’s a place for every man who will 
come and take his part. 

No one in the village enjoyed the approach of “ veast 
day” more than Tom, in the year in which he was 
taken under old Benjy’s tutelage. The feast was held 
in a large green field at the . lower end of the village. 
The road to Farringdon ran along one side of it, and 
the brook by the side of the road ; and above the 
brook was another large gentle sloping pasture-land, 
w’ith a foot-path running down it from the churchyard ; 
and the old church, the originator of all the mirth, 
towered up with its grey walls and lancet windows, 
overlooking and sanctioning the whole, though its own 
share therein had been forgotten. At the point where 
the footpath crossed the brook and road, and entered on 
the field where the feast was held, was a long low road- 
side inn, and on the opposite side of the field was a 
large white thatched farm-house, where dwelt an old 
sporting farmer, a great promoter of the revels. 

Past the old church, and down the footpath, pottered 
the old man and the child hand in hand early on the 
afternoon of the day before the feast, and wandered all 
round the ground, which was already being occupied by 
the “ cheap Jacks,” with their green covered carts and 
marvellous assortment of wares, and the booths of more 
legitimate small traders with their tempting arrays of 
fairings and eatables ! and penny peep-shows and other 


30 


MOKNING OF THE VEAST. 


shows, containing pink-eyed ladies, and dwarfs, and 
boa- constrictors, and wild Indians. But the object of 
most interest to Benjy, and of course to his pupil also, 
was the stage of rough planks some four feet high, 
which was being put up by the village carpenter for the 
back-swording and wrestling ; and after surveying the 
whole tenderly, old Benjy led his charge away to the 
road-side inn, where he ordered a glass of ale and a 
long pipe for himself, and discussed these unwonted 
luxuries on the bench outside in the soft autumn evening 
with mine host, another old servant of the Browns, and 
speculated with him on the likelihood of a good show of 
old gamesters to contend for the morr6w’s prizes, and 
told tales of the gallant bouts of forty years back, to 
which Tom listened with all his ears and eyes. 

But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when 
the church bells were ringing a merry peal, and old 
Benjy appeared in the servants’ hall, resplendent in a 
long blue coat and brass buttons, and a pair of old 
yellow buckskins and top-boots, which he had cleaned 
for and inherited from Tom’s grandfather; a stout 
thorn-stick in his hand, and a nosegay of pinks and 
lavender in his button-hole, and led away Tom in his 
best clothes, and two new shillings in liis breeches- 
pockets ? Those two, at any rate, look like enjoying 
the day’s revel. 

They quicken their pace when they get into the ~ 
churchyard, for already they see the field thronged with 
country folk, the men in clean white smocks or velveteen 
or fustian coats, with rough plush waistcoats of many 
colours, and the women in the beautiful long scarlet 
cloak, the usual out-door dress of west- country women 


GOSSIPING PRELIMINARY. 


31 


in those days, and which often descended in families 
from mother to daughter, or in new-fashioned stuff 
shawls, which, if they would but believe it, don’t become 
them half so well. The air resounds with the pipe and 
tabor, and the drums and trumpets of the showmen 
shouting at the doors of their caravans, over which 
tremendous pictures of the wonders to be seen within 
hang temptingly ; while through all rises the shrill 
" root-too-too-too ” of Mr. Punch, and the unceasing 
pan-pipe of his satellite. 

“Lawk a’ massey, Mr. Benjamin,” cries a stout 
motherly woman in a red cloak, as they enter the field 
“ be that you ? Well I never ! you do look purely. 
And how’s the Squire, and Madam, and the family ? ” 

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who 
has left our village for some years, but has come over 
for Veast-day on a visit to an old gossip — and gently 
indicates the heir apparent of the Browns. 

“ Bless his little heart ! 1 must gi’ im a kiss. Here 
Susannah, Susannah ! ” cries she, raising herself from 
the embrace, “ come and see Mr. Benjamin and young 
Master Tom. You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin, 
she be growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen 
her, tho’ her’U be sixteen come Martinmas. I do aim 
to take her to see Madam to get her a place.” 

And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of old 
school-fellows, and drops a curtsey to Mr. Benjamin. 
And elders come up from all parts to salute Benjy, and 
girls who have been Madam’s pupils to kiss Master 
Tom. And they carry him off to load him with 
fairings ; and he returns to Benjy, his hat and coat 
covered with ribands, and his pockets crammed with 


32 


THE JINGLING MATCH. 


wonderful boxes which open upon ever new boxes and 
boxes, and popguns and trumpets, and apples, and gilt 
gingerbread from the stall of Angel Heavens, sole 
vendor thereof, whose booth groans with kings and 
queens, and elephants, and prancing steeds, all gleam- 
ing with gold. There was more gold on Angel’s cakes 
than there is ginger in those of this degenerate age. 
Skilled diggers might yet make a fortune in the church- 
3mrds of the Vale, by carefully washing the dust of the 
consumers of Angel’s gingerbread. Alas ! he is with 
his namesakes, and his receipts have, I fear, died with 
him. 

And then they inspect the penny peep-show, at least 
Tom does, while old Benjy stands outside and gossips, 
and walks up the steps, and enters the mysterious doors 
of the pink- eyed lady, and the Irish Giant, who do not 
by any means come up to their pictures ; and the boa 
will not swallow his rabbit, but there the rabbit is 
waiting to be swallowed — and what can you expect for 
tuppence? We are easily pleased in the Vale. How 
there is a rush of the crowd, and a tinkling bell is 
heard, and shouts of laughter ; and Master Tom mounts 
on Benjy’s shoulders and beholds a jingling match in 
all its glory. The games are begun, and this is the 
opening of them. It is a quaint game, immensely 
amusing to look at, and as I don’t know whether it is 
used in your counties, I had better describe it. A large 
roped ring is made, into which are introduced a dozen 
or so of big boys and young men who mean to play ; 
these -are carefully blinded and turned loose into the 
ring, and then a man is introduced not blindfolded, with 
a bell hung round his neck, and his two hands tied 


STAKES FOR THE BACK-SWORDING. 


33 


behind him. Of course every time he moves, the bell 
must ring, as he has no hand to hold it, and so the 
dozen blindfolded men have to catch him. This they 
cannot always manage if he is a lively fellow, but half 
of them always rush into the arms of the other half, or 
drive their heads together, or tumble over; and then 
the crowd laughs vehemently, and invents nicknames 
for them on the spur of the moment, and they, if they 
be choleric, tear off the handkerchiefs which blind 
them, and not unfrequently pitch into one another, each 
thinking that the other must have rim against him on 
purpose. It is great fun to look at a jingling-match 
certainly, and Tom shouts, and jumps on old Benjy’s 
shoulders at the sight, until the old itian feels weary, and 
shifts him to the strong young shoulders of the groom, 
who has just got down to the fun. 

And now, while they are climbing the pole in another 
part of the field, and muzzling in a flour-tub in another, 
the old farmer whose house, as has been said, overlooks 
the field, and who is master of the revels, gets up the 
steps on to the stage, and announces to all whom it may 
concern that a half-sovereign in money will be forth- 
coming for the old gamester who breaks most heads ; to 
which the Squire and he have added a new hat. 

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate the 
men of the immediate neighbourhood, but not enough 
to bring any very high talent from a distance ; so after a 
glance or two round, a tall fellow, who is a down shep- 
herd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the 
steps looking rather sheepish. The crowd of course first 
cheer, and then chaff as usual, as he picks up his hat 
and begins handling the sticks to see which will suit him. 

D 


34 


THE PLAYERS. 


‘‘ Wooy, Willum Smith, thee cans’t plaay wi* he am 
daay,” says his companion to the blacksmith’s apprentice, 
a stout young fellow of nineteen or twenty. Willum’s 
sweetheart is in the veast ” somewhere, and has strictly 
enjoined him not to get his head broke at back-swording, 
on pain of her highest displeasure; but as she is not 
to be seen, (the women pretend not to like to see the 
back-sword play, and keep away from the stage,) and 
as his hat is decidedly getting old, he chucks it on to 
the stage, and follows himself, hoping that he will only 
have to break other people’s heads, or that after all 
Eachel won’t really mind. 

Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a half- 
gipsy, poaching, loafing fellow, who travels the Vale 
not for much good, I fancy : 

‘‘Full twenty times was Peter feared 
For once that Peter was respected” 

in fact. And then three or four other hats, including 
the glossy castor of Joe Willis, the self-elected and 
would-be champion of the neighbourhood, a well-to-do 
young butcher of twenty-eight or thereabouts, and a 
great strapping fellow, with his full allowance of bluster. 
This is a capital show of gamesters, considering the 
amount of the prize; so while they are picking their 
sticks and drawing their lots, I think I must tell you, as 
shortly as I can, how the noble old game of back-sword 
is played; for it is sadly gone out of late, even in the 
Vale, and maybe you have never seen it. 

The weapon is a good stout ash-stiek with a large 
basket handle, heavier and somewhat shorter than a 
common single-stick. The players are called “old 


AEMS AND ACCOUTREMENTS. 


35 


gamesters ” — why, I can’t tell yon, — and their object is 
simply to break one another’s heads : for the moment 
that blood runs an inch anywhere above the eyebrow 
the old gamester to whom it belongs is beaten, and has 
to stop. A very slight blow with the sticks will fetch 
blood, so that it is by no means a punishing pastime, if 
the men don’t play on purpose, and savagely, at the 
body and arms of their adversaries. The old gamester 
going into action only takes off his hat and coat, and 
arms himself with a stick : he then loops the fingers of 
his left hand in a handkerchief or strap which he fastens 
round his left leg, measuring the length, so that when 
he draws it tight with his left elbow in the air, that 
elbow shall just reach as high as his crown. Thus you 
see, so long as he chooses to keep his left elbow up, 
regardless of cuts, he has a perfect guard for the left 
side of his head. Then he advances his right hand 
above and in front of his head, holding his stick across 
so that its point projects an inch or two over his left 
elbow, and thus his whole head is completely guarded, 
and he faces his man armed in like manner, and they 
stand some three feet apart, often nearer, and feint, 
and strike, and return at one another’s heads, until one 
cries “ hold,” or blood flows ; in the first case they are 
allowed a minute’s time, and go on again ; in the latter, 
another pair of gamesters are called on. If good men 
are playing, the quickness of the returns is marvellous; 
you hear the rattle like that a boy makes drawing 
his stick along palings, only heavier, and the closeness 
of the men in action to one another gives it a strange 
interest and makes a spell at back-swording a very noble 
sight 




36 


JOE AND THE GIPSY. 


They are all suited now with sticks, and Joe Willis 
and the gipsy man have drawn the first lot. So the 
rest lean against the rails of the stage, and Joe and the 
dark man meet in the middle, the boards having been 
strewed with sawdust; Joe’s white shirt and spotless 
drab breeches and boots contrasting with the gipsy’s 
coarse blue shirt and dirty green velveteen breeches and 
leather gaiters. Joe is evidently turning up his nose 
at the other, and half insulted at having to break his 
head. 

The gipsy is a tough active fellow, but not very 
skilful with his weapon, so that Joe’s weight and 
strength tell in a minute; he is too heavy metal for 
him : whack, whack, whack, come his blows, breaking 
down the gipsy’s guard, and threatening to reach his 
head every moment. There it is at last — “Blood, 
blood !” shout the spectators, as a thin stream oozes out 
slowly from the roots of his hair, and the umpire calls 
to them to stop. The gipsy scowls at Joe under his 
brows in no pleasant manner, while Master Joe swaggers 
about, and makes attitudes, and thinks himself, and 
shows that he thinks himself, the greatest man in the 
field. 

Then follow several stout sets-to between the other 
candidates for the new hat, and at last come the shep- 
herd and Willum Smith. This is the crack set-to of 
the day. They are both in famous wind, and there is 
no crying “ hold the shepherd is an old hand and up 
to all the dodges ; he tries them one after another, and 
very nearly gets at Willum’s head by coming in near, 
and playing over his guard at the half-stick, but some- 
how Willum blunders through, catching the stick on 


THE SHEPHERD AND WILLUxM SMITH. 


37 


liis shoulders, neck, sides, every now and then, any- 
where hut on his head, and his returns are heavy and 
straight, and he is the youngest gamester and a favourite 
in tho parish, and his gallant stand brings down 
shouts and cheers, and the knowing ones think he’ll 
win if he keeps steady, and Tom on the groom’s shoulder 
holds his hands together, and can hardly breathe for 
excitement. 

Alas for Willum 1 his sweetheart getting tired of 
female companionship has been hunting the booths to 
see where he can have got to, and now catches sight 
of him on the stage in full combat. She flushes and 
turns pale ; her old aunt catches hold of her, saying, 
“ Bless’ee, child, doan’t’ee go a’nigst it ; ” but she 
breaks away and runs towards the stage calling his 
name. Willum keeps up his guard stoutly, but glances 
for a moment towards the voice. No guard will do it, 
Willum, without the eye. The shepherd steps round 
and strikes, and the point of his stick just grazes 
Willum’s forehead, fetching o^ the skin, and the 
blood flows, and the umpire cries “Hold,” and poor 
Willum’s chance is up for the day. But he takes it very 
well, and puts on his old hat and coat, and goes down 
to be scolded by his sweetheart, and led away out of mis- 
chief. Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he walks off — 

“ Now doan’t’ee, Eachel ! I wouldn’t ha’ done it, 
only I wanted summut to buy’ee a fairing wi’, and I be 
as vlush o’ money as a twod o’ veathers.” 

“ Thee mind what I tells’ee,” rejoins Kachel saucily, 
“and doan’t’ee kep blethering about fairings.” Tom 
resolves in his heart to give Willum the remainder of 
his two shillings after the back-swording. 


38 A NEW “OLD GAMESTER.” 

Joe Willis lias all tlie luck to-day. His next bout 
ends in an easy victory, while the shepherd has a tough 
job to break his second head ; and when Joe and the 
shepherd meet, and the whole circle expect and hope to 
see him get a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the 
first round and falls against the rails, hurting himself 
so that the old farmer will not let him go on, much as he 
wishes to try ; and that impostor Joe (for he is certainly 
not the best man) struts and swaggers about the stage 
the conquering gamester, though he hasn’t had five 
minutes really trying play. 

Joe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the 
money into it, and then as if a thought strikes him 
and he doesn’t think his victory quite acknowledged 
down below, walks to each face of the stage, and looks 
down, shaking the money, and charting, as how he’ll 
stake hat and money and another hall-sovereign “ agiu 
any gamester as hasn't played already.” Cunning Joe ! 
he thus gets rid of VYillum and the shepherd, who is 
quite fresh again. 

'No one seems to like the ofier, and the umpire is 
just coming down, when a queer old hat, something like 
a Doctor of Divinity’s shovel, is chucked on to the stage, 
and an elderly quiet man steps out, who has been 
watching the play, saying he should like to cross a 
stick wi’ the prodigalish young chap. 

The crowd cheer and begin to chaff Joe, who turns up 
his nose and swaggers across to the sticks. “ Imp’dent 
old wosbird!” says he, “I’ll break the bald head on un 
to the truth.” 

The old boy is very bald certainly, and the blood 
will show fast enough if you can touch him, Joe. 


JOE OUT OF LUCK. 


39 


Tie takes off liis long flapped coat, and stands np in 
a long flapped waistcoat, which Sir Eoger de Coverley 
might have worn when it was new, picks out a stick, 
and is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, but 
begins his old game, whack, whack, whack, trying to 
break down the «ld man’s guard by sheer strength. 
But it won’t do, — he catches every blow close by the 
basket, and though he is rather stift' in his returns, 
after a minute walks Joe about the stage, and is clearly 
a staunch old gamester. Joe now comes in, and making 
the most of his height, tries to get ove- the old man’s 
guard at half-stick, by which he takes a smart blow 
in the ribs and another on the elbow and nothing more. 
And now he loses wind and begins to puff, and the 
crowd laugh : “ Cry ‘ hold,* Joe — thee’st met thy 
match!” Instead of taking good advice and getting 
his wind, Joe loses his temper, and strikes at the old 
man’s body. 

‘‘Blood, blood!” shout the crowd, “Joe’s head’s 
broke!” 

Who’d have thought it ? How did it come ? That 
body-blow left Joe’s head unguarded for a moment, 
and with one turn of the wrist the old gentleman has 
icked a neat little bit of skin off the middle of his 
forehead, and though he won’t believe it, and hammers 
on for three more blows despite of the shouts, is then 
convinced by the blood trickling into his eye. Poor 
Joe is sadly crestfallen, and fumbles in his pocket for 
the other half-sovereign, but the old gamester won’t 
have it. “ Keep thy money, man, and gi’s thy hand,* 
says he, and they shake hands ; but the old gamester 
gives the new to the shepherd, and, soon after, the 


40 


THE REVELS ARE OVER. 


half-sovereign to Willum, who thereout decorates his 
sweetheart with ribbons to his heart’s content. 

“Who can a be?” “ Wur do a cum from?” ask the 
crowd. And it soon flies about that the old westr 
country champion, who played a tie with Shaw'the 
Life-guardsman at “Vizes” twenty years before, has 
broken Joe Willis’s crown for him. 

How my country fair is spinning out 1 I see I must 
skip the wrestling, and the boys jumping in sacks, and 
rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded: and the donkey- 
race, and the fight which arose thereout, marring the 
otherwise peaceful “ veast ; ” and the frightened scurry- 
ing away of the female feast-goers, and descent of Squire 
Brown, summoned by the wife of one of the combatants 
to stop it ; which he wouldn’t start to do till he had 
got on his top-boots. Tom is carried away by old 
Benjy, dog-tired and surfeited with pleasure, as the 
evening conies on and the dancing begins in the booths ; 
and though Willum and Eachel in her new ribbons 
and many another good lad and lass don’t come away 
just yet, but have a good step out, and enjoy it, and 
get no harm thereby, yet we, being sober folk, will just 
stroll away up through the churchyard, and by the old 
yew-tree ; and get a quiet dish of tea and a parle with 
our gossips, as the steady ones of our village do, and so 
to bed. 

That’s the fair true sketch, as far as it goes, of 
one of the larger village feasts in the Vale of Berks, 
when I was a little boy. They are much altered for 
the worse, I am told. I haven’t been at one these 
twenty years, but I have been at the statute fairs in 
some west-country towns, where servants are hired, and 


OLD BOr MORALISETE ON LEASTS. 


41 


greater abominations cannot be found. What village 
feasts have come to, I fear, in many cases, may be read 
in the pages of Yeast, (though I never saw one so bad 
— thank God !) 

Do you want to know why ? It is because, as I said 
before, gentlefolk and farmers have left off joining or 
taking an interest in them. They don’t either subscribe 
to the prizes, or go down and enjoy the fun. 

Is this a good or a bad sign ? I hardly know. Bad, 
sure enough, if it only arises from the further separation 
of classes consequent on twenty years of buying cheap 
and selling dear, and its accompanying over- work ; or 
because our sons and daughters have their hearts in 
D)ndon Club-life, or so-called Society, instead of in 
the old English home duties ; because farmers* sons 
are apeing fine gentlemen, and farmers’ daughters 
caring more to make bad foreign music than good 
Pmglish cheeses. Good, perhaps, if it be that the 
time for the old “ veast ” has gone by, that it is no 
longer the healthy sound expression of English country 
holiday-making ; that, in fact, we as a nation have got 
beyond it, and are in a transition state, feeling for and 
soon likely to find some better substitute. 

Only I have just got this to say before I quit the 
text. Don’t let reformers of any sort think that they 
are going really to lay hold of the working boys and 
young men of England by any educational grapnel 
whatever, which hasn’t some hood fide, equivalent for 
the games of the old country veast ” in it ; something 
to put in the place of the back-swording and wrestling 
and racing; something to try the muscles of men’s 
bodies, and the endurance of their hearts, and to make 


42 ALVJCE TO YOUNG SWELLS. 

them rejoice in their strength. In all the new-fangled 
comprehensive plans which I see, this is all left out : 
and the consequence is, that your great Mechanics’ 
Institutes end in intellectual priggism, and your 
Christian Young Men’s Societies in religious Pharisaism. 

Well, well, we must bide our time. Life isn’t all 
beer and skittles, — but beer and skittles, or something 
better of the same sort, must form a good part of every 
Englishman’s education. If I could only drive this 
into the heads of you rising Parliamentary Lords, and 
young swells who “ have your ways made for you,” as 
the saying is, — you, who frequent palaver houses and 
West-end clubs, waiting always ready to strap your- 
selves on to the back of poor dear old John, as soon as 
the present used-up lot (your fathers and uncles), who 
sit there on the great Parliamentary-majorities* pack- 
saddle, and make belief they’re guiding him with their 
red-tape bridle, tumble, or have to be lifted off I 

I don’t think much of you yet — I wish I could; 
though you do go talking and lecturing up and down 
the country to crowded audiences, and are busy with 
all sorts of philanthropic intellectualism, and circulating 
libraries and museums, and Heaven only knows what 
besides ; and try to make us think, through newspaper 
reports, that you are, even as we, of the working classes. 
But, bless your hearts, we “ ain’t so green,” though lots 
of us of all sorts toady you’ enough certainly, and try 
to make you think so. 

I’ll tell you what to do now : instead of all this 
trumpeting and fuss, which is only the old Parliamentary- 
majority dodge over again— just you go each of you 
(you’ve plenty of time for it, if you’ll only give up 


SMALL HOPE OF SWELLS. 


43 


t’other line,) and quietly make three or four firiends, 
real friends, among us. You’ll find a little trouble in 
getting at the right sort, because such birds don’t come 
lightly to your lure — but found they may be. Take, 
say, two out of the professions, lawyer, parson, doctor — 
which you will; one out of trade, and three or four 
out of the working classes — tailors, engineers, carpenters, 
engravers, — there’s plenty of choice. Let them be men 
of your own ages, mind, and ask them to your homes ; 
introduce them to your wives and sisters, and get 
introduced to theirs : give them good dinners, and talk 
to them about what is really at the bottom of your 
heart, and box, and run, and row with them, when you 
have a chance. Do all this honestly as man to man, 
and by the time you come to ride old John, you’ll be 
able to do something more than sit on his back, and 
may feel his mouth with some stronger bridle than a 
red-tape one. 

Ah, if you only would ! But you have got too far 
out of the right rut, I fear. Too much over-civilization, 
and the deceitfulness of riches. It is easier for a camel 
to go through the eye of a needle. More’s the pity. 
1 never came across but two of you, who could value 
a man wholly and solely for what was in him ; who 
thought themselves verily and indeed of the same flesh 
and blood as John Jones the attorney’s clerk, and 
Bill Smith the costermonger, and could act as if they 
thought so. 


44 


SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES, 


CHAPTER III. 


SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES. 



OOR old Benj)'- 1 
the "‘rheumatiz’* 
has much to 
answer for all 
through English 
country sides, 
but it never 
played a scur- 
vier trick than 
in laying thee 
by the heels, 
when thou wast 
yet in a green 
old age. The 
enemy, which 
had long been 
carrying on a 
sort of border 
warfare, and try, 
ing his strength against P>enjy*s on the battle-field, 
of his hands and legs, now, mustering aU his forces 


benjy’s decline. 


45 


began laying siege to the citadel, and overrunning 
the whole country. Beujy was seized in the back 
and loins ; and though he made strong and brave 
tight, it was soon clear enough that all which could be 
beaten of poor old Benjy would have to give in before 
long. 

It was as much as be could do now, with the help of 
his big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down to the 
canal with Master Tom, and bait his hook for him, and 
sit and watch his angling, telling him quaint old country 
stories ; and when Tom had no sport, and detecting a 
rat some hundred yards or so off along the bank, would 
rush off with Toby the turnspit terrier, his other faithful 
companion, in bootless pursuit, he might have tumbled 
in and been drowned twenty times over before Benjy 
could have got near him. 

, Cheery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, this 
loss of locomotive power bothered him greatly. He had 
got a new object in his old age, and was just beginning 
to think himself useful again in the world. He feared 
much too lest Master Tom should fall back again into 
the hands of Charity and the women. So he tried 
everything he could think of to get set up. He even 
went an expedition to the d welling of one of those queer 
mortals, who — say what we will, and reason how we 
will— do cure simple people of diseases of one kind or 
another without the aid of physic ; and so get to them- 
selves the reputation of using charms, and inspire for 
themselves and their dwellings great respect, not to say 
fear, amongst a simple folk such as the dwellers in the 
Vale of White Horse. Where this power, or whatever 
else it may be, descends upon the shoulders of a man 


46 BENJY RESORTS TO A “WISE MAN.” 

whose ways are not straight, he becomes a nuisance to 
the neighbourhood ; a receiver of stolen goods, giver of 
love-potions, and deceiver of silly women ; the avowed 
enemy of law and order, oi justices of the peace, head- 
boroughs, and gamekeepers. Such a man in fact as 
was recently caught tripping, and deservedly dealt with 
by the Leeds justices, for seducing a girl who had come 
to him to get back a faithless lover, and has been con- 
victed of bigamy since then. Sometimes, however, they 
are of quite a different stamp, men who pretend to 
nothing, and are with difficulty persuaded to exercise 
their occult arts in the simplest cases. 

Of this latter sort was old larmer Ives, as he was 
called, the “ wise man ” to whom Benjy resorted (taking 
Tom with him as usual), in the early spring of the year 
next after the feast described in the last chapter. AVhy 
he was called “farmer” I cannot say, unless it be that 
he was the owner of a cow, a pig or two, and some 
poultry, which he maintained on about an acre of land 
enclosed from the middle of a wild comn n, on which 
probably his father had squatted before lords of manors 
looked as keenly after their rights as they do now. 
Here he had lived no one knew how long, a solitary 
man. It wa.s often rumoured that he was to be turned 
out and his cottage pulled down, but somehow it never 
came to pass ; and his pigs and cow went grazing 
on the common, and his geese hissed at the passing 
children and at the heels of the horse of my lord’s 
steward, who often rode by with a covetous eye on the 
enclosure, still unmolested. His dwelling was some 
miles from our village ; so Benjy, who was half ashamed 
of his errand, and wholly unable to walk there, had to 


FARMER IVES THE “WISE MAN.” 47 

exercise much ingenuity to get the means of transport- 
ing himself and Tom thither without exciting suspicion. 
However, one fine May morning he managed to borrow 
the old blind pony of our friend the publican, and Tom 
persuaded Madam Brown to give him a holiday to 
spend with old Benjy, and to lend them the Squire’s 
light cart, stored with bread and cold meat and a bottle 
of ale. And so the two in high glee started behind 
old Dobbin, and jogged along the deep-rutted plashy 
roads, which had not been mended after their winter’s 
wear, towards the dwelling of the wizard. About noon 
they passed the gate which opened on to the large 
common, and old Dobbin toiled slowly up the hill, while 
Benjy pointed out a little deep dingle on the left, out of 
which welled a tiny stream. As they crept up the hill 
the tops of a few birch-trees came in sight, and blue 
smoke curling up through their delicate light boughs ; 
and then the little white thatched home and patch of 
enclosed ground of farmer Ives, lying cradled in the 
dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and on 
both sides; while in front, after traversing a gentle 
slope, the eye might travel for miles and miles over the 
rich vale. They now left the main road and struck 
into a green tract over the common marked lightly 
with wheel and horse-shoe, which led down into the 
dingle and stopped at the rough gate of farmer Ives. 
Here they found the farmer, an iron-grey old man, with 
a bushy eyebrow and strong aquiline nose, busied in one 
of his vocations. He was a horse and cow doctor, and 
was tending a sick beast which had been sent up to be 
cured. Benjy hailed him as an old friend, and he re- 
turned the greeting cordially enough, looking however 


48 


THE ‘^WISE man’s” SURROUNDINGS. 


hard for a moment both at Benjy and Tom, to see 
whether there was more in their visit than appeared at 
iirst sight. It was a work of some difficulty and danger 
for Benjy to reach the ground, which however he 
managed to do without mishap ; and then he devoted 
himself to unharnessing Dobbin, and turning him out 
for a graze (" a run ” one could not say of that virtuous 
steed) on the common. This done, he extricated the 
cold provisions from the cart, and they entered the 
farmer’s wicket; and he, shutting up the knife with 
which he was taking maggots out of the cow’s back 
and sides, accompanied them towards the cottage. A big 
old lurcher got up slowly from the door-stone, stretching 
first one hind leg and then the other, and taking Tom’s 
caresses and the presence of Toby, who kept however 
at a respectful distance, with equal indifference. 

“ Us be cum to pay’e a visit. I’ve a been long 
minded to do’t for old sake’s sake, only I vinds I dwont 
get about now as I’d use to’t. I be so plaguy bad wi’ 
th’ rumatiz in my back.” Benjy paused, in hopes of 
drawing the farmer at once on the subject of his ailment 
without further direct application. 

‘‘Ah, I see as you bean’t quite so lissom as you 
was,” replied the farmer with a grim smile, as he lifted 
the latch of his door ; “ we bean’t so young as we was^ 
nother on us, wuss luck.” 

The farmer’s cottage was very like those of the better 
class of peasantry in general. A snug chimney corner 
with two seats, and a small carpet on the hearth, an old 
flint gun and a pair of spurs over the fireplace, a dresser 
with shelves on which some bright pewter plates and 
crockeryware were arranged, an old walnut table, a few 


WART-CHARMING AND BIRD-CHARMING. 


49 


chairs and settles, some framed samplers, and an old 
print or two, and a bookcase with some dozen volumes 
on the walls, a rack with flitches of bacon, and other 
stores fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best 
part of the furniture. No sign of occult art is to be 
seen, unless the bundles of dried herbs hanging to the 
rack and in the ingle, and the row of labelled phials on 
one of the shelves, betoken it. 

Tom played about with some kittens who occupied 
the hearth, and with a goat who walked demurely in at 
the open door, while their host and Benjy spread the 
table for dinner — and was soon engaged in conflict with 
the cold meat, to which he did much honour. The two 
old men’s talk was of old comrades and their deeds, 
mute inglorious Miltons of the Vale, and of the doings 
thirty years back — which didn’t interest him much, 
except when they spoke of the making of the canal, 
and then indeed he began to listen with all his ears, 
and learned to his no small wonder that his dear and 
wonderful canal had not been there always— was not in 
fact so old as Benjy or farmer Ives, which caused a 
strange commotion in his small brain. 

After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart which 
Tom had on the knuckles of his hand, and which the 
family doctor had been trying his skill on without suc- 
cess, and begged the farmer to charm it away. Farmer 
Ives looked at it, muttered something or another over 
it, and cut some notches in a short stick, which he 
handed to Benjy, giving him instructions for cutting it 
down on certain days, and cautioning Tom not to meddle 
with the wart for a fortnight. And then they strolled 
out and sat on a bench in the sun with their pipes, and 

E 


50 


benjy’s eheumatism. 


the pigs came up and grunted sociably and let Tom 
scratch them ; and the farmer, seeing how he liked 
animals, stood up and held his arms in the air and 
gave a call, which brought a flock of pigeons wheeling 
and dashing through the birch-trees. They settled 
down in clusters on the farmer’s arms and shoulders, 
making love to him and scrambling over one another’s 
backs to get to his face ; and then he threw them all 
off, and they fluttered about close by, and lighted on 
him again and again when he held up his arms. All 
the creatures about the place were clean and fearless, 
quite unlike their relations elsewhere ; and Tom begged 
to be taught how to make all the pigs and cows and 
poultry in our village tame, at which the farmer only 
gave one of his grim chuckles. 

It wasn’t till they were just ready to go, and old 
Dobbin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the subject 
of his rheumatism again, detailing his symptoms one 
by one. Poor old boy! He hoped the farmer could 
charm it away as easily as he could Tom’s wart, and 
was ready with equal faith to put another notched stick 
into his other pocket, for the cure of his own ailments. 

" The physician shook his head, but nevertheless produced 
a bottle and handed it to Benjy with instructions for 
use. “ Not as ’t’ll do’e much good — ^leastways I be 
afeared not,” shading his eyes with his hand and look- 
ing up at them in the cart ; “ there’s only one thing 
as I knows on, as’U cure old folks like you and I o’ th’ 
rhumatis.” 

“Wot be that then, farmer? ” inquired Benjy. 

“ Churchyard mould,” said the old iron-grey man, 
with another chuckle. And so they said their good-byes 


tom’s allies. 


51 


jiAd went their ways home. Tom’s wart was gone in a 
fc>itniglit, hut not so Benjy’s rheumatism, which laid 
hiiii by the heels more and more. And though Tom 
still stent many an hour with him, as he sat on a 
bench in the sunshine, or by the chimney corner when 
it waw cold, he soon had to seek elsewhere for his 
regulai companions. 

Tom had been accustomed often to accompany his 
mother in her visits to the cottages, and had thereby 
made acquaintance with many of the village boys of 
his own age. There was tfob Eudkin, son of widow 
Rudkin, the most bustling woman in the parish. How 
she could ever have had such a stolid boy as Job for a 
child must always remaiLi a mystery. The first time 
Tom went to their cottage with his mother Job was not 
in-doors, but he entered soon after, and stood with both 
hands in his pov'.kevs staring at Tom. Widow Rudkin 
who would have bad to cross Madam to get at j^oung 
Hopeful — a breach of good manners of which she w^as 
wholly incapable— began a series of pantomime signs, 
which only puzzled him, and at last, unable to contain 
herself longer, burst out with, Job I Job ! where’s 
thy cap ? ” 

“What! beant’e on ma* head, mother?” replied 
Job, slowly extricating one hand from a pocket and 
feeling for the article in question ; which he found on 
his head sure enough, and left there, to his mother’s 
horror and Tom’s great delight. 

Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted 
boy, who ambled about cheerfully, undertaking messages 
and little helpful odds and ends for every one, which, 
however, poor Jacob managed always hopelessly to 


52 


TORYISM OF SQUIRE BROWN. 


embrangle. Everything came to pieces in his hands, 
and nothing would stop in his head. They nicknamed 
him Jacob Doodle-calf. 

But above all there was Harry Winburn, the quickest 
and best boy in the parish. He might be a year older 
than Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the 
Crichton of our village boys. He could wrestle and 
climb and run better than all the rest, and learned all 
that the schoolmaster could teach him faster than that 
worthy at all liked. He was a boy to be proud of, 
with his curly brown hair, keen grey eye, straight 
active figure, and little ears and hands and feet, “as 
fine as a lord’s,” as Charity remarked to Tom one day, 
talking as usual great nonsense. Lords’ hands and 
ears and feet are just as ugly as other folks’ when they 
are children, as any one may convince themselves if 
they like to look. Tight boots and gloves, and doing 
nothing with them, I allow make a difference by the 
time they are twenty. 

How that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young 
brothers were still under petticoat government, Tom, in 
search of companions, began to cultivate the village 
boys generally more and more. Squire Brown, be 
it said, was a true blue Tory to the backbone, and 
believed honestly that the powers which be were 
ordained of God, and that loyalty and steadfast obedi- 
ence were men’s first duties. Whether it were in 
consequence or in spite of his political creed, I do not 
mean to give an opinion, though I have one; but 
certain it is, that he held therewith divers social prin- 
ciples not generally supposed to be true’ blue in colour. 
Foremost of these, and the one which the Squire loved 


TOJi’S WATCH-TOWER BY THE SCHOOL. 53 

to propound above all others, was the belief that a man 
is to be valued wholly and solely for that which he is 
in himself, for that which stands up in the four fleshly 
walls of him, apart from clothes, rank, fortune, and all 
externals whatsoever. Which belief I take to be a 
wholesome corrective of all political opinions, and, if 
held sincerely, to make all opinions equally harmless, 
whether they be blue, red, or green. As a necessary 
corollary to this belief. Squire Brown held further that 
it didn’t matter a straw whether his son associated with 
lords’ sons, or ploughmen’s sons, provided they were 
brave and honest. He himself had played football 
and gone birds’-nesting with the farmers whom he met 
at vestry and the labourers who tilled their fields, and 
so had his father and grandfather with their progeni- 
tors. So he encouraged Tom in his intimacy with 
the boys of the village, and forwarded oy all means 
in his power, and gave them the run of a close for a 
playground, and provided bats and balls and a football 
for their sports. ^ 

Our village was blessed amongst other things with a 
well-endowed school The building stood by itself, 
apart from the master’s house, on an angle of gi*ound 
where three roads met ; an old grey stone building with 
a steep roof and mullioned windows. On one of the 
opposite angles stood Squire Brown’s stables and 
kennel, with their backs to the road, over which 
towered a great elm-tree; on the third stood the 
village carpenter and wheelwright’s large open shop, 
and his house and the schoolmaster’s, with long low 
eaves under which the swallows built by scores. 

The moment Tom’s lessons were over, he would now 


54 tom’s foes. — THE WHEELWRIGHT, ETC. 

get him down to this corner by the stables, and watch 
till the boys came out of school. He prevailed on the 
groom to cut notches for him in the bark of the elm, 
so that he could climb into the lower branches, and 
there he would sit watching the school door, and specu- 
lating on the possibility of turning the elm into a 
dwelling-place for himself and friends after the manner 
of the Swiss Hamily Eobinson. But the school hours 
were long and Tom’s patience short, so that soon he 
began to descend into the street, and go and peep in at 
the school door and the wheelwright’s shop, and look 
out for something to while away the time. Now the 
wheelwright was a choleric man, and, one fine after- 
noon, returning from a short absence, found Tom 
occupied with one of his pet adzes, the edge of which 
w^as fast vanishing under our hero’s care. A speedy 
flight saved Tom from all but one sound cuff on the 
ears, but he resented this unjustifiable interruption of 
his first essays at carpentering, and still more the 
further proceedings of the wheelwright, wdio cut a 
switch and hung it over the door of his workshop, 
threatening to use it upon Tom if he came within 
tw^enty yards of his gate. So Tom, to retaliate, com- 
menced a war upon the sw^allows who dwelt under the 
wheelwright’s eaves, whom he harassed with sticks and 
stones, and being fleeter of foot than his enemy, escaped 
all punishment and kept him in perpetual anger. 
Moreover his presence about the school door began to 
incense the master, as the boys in that neighbourhood 
neglected their lessons in consequence : and more than 
once he issued into the porch, rod in hand, just as Tom 
beat a hasty relicat. And he and the wheelwright, 


DEFEAT, CAPTUEE, PEACE. 


55 


lajiiig their heads together, resolved to acquaint the 
Squire with Tom’s afternoon occupations ; but in order 
to do it with effect, determined to take him captive and 
lead him away to judgment fresh from his evil doings. 
This they would have found some difficulty in doing, 
had Tom continued the war single-handed, or rather 
single-footed, for he would have taken to the deepest 
part of Pebbly Brook to escape them ; but, like other 
active powers, he was ruined by his alliances. Poor 
Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to school with the 
other boys, and one fine afternoon, about three o’clock 
(the school broke up at four), Tom found him ambling 
about the street, and pressed him into a visit to the 
school porch. Jacob, always ready to do what he was 
asked, consented, and the two stole down to the school 
together. Tom first reconnoitred the wheelwright’s 
shop, and seeing no signs of activity, thought all safe 
in that quarter, and ordered at once an advance of all 
his troops upon the school porch. The door of the 
school was ajar, and the boys seated on the. nearest 
bench at once recognised and opened a correspondence 
with the invaders. Tom waxing bold, kept putting 
his head into the school and making faces at the master 
when his back was turned. Poor Jacob, not in the 
least comprehending tlie situation, and in high glee at 
finding himself so near the school, which he had never 
been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of enthusiasm, 
pushed by Tom, and ambling three steps into the 
school, stood there, looking round him and nodding 
with a self-approving smile. The master, who was 
stooping over a boy’s slate, with his back to the door, 
became a\vare of something unusual, and turned 


5G PLAY AND WORK. 

quickly round. Tom rushed at Jacob, and began 
dragging him back by his smock-frock, and the master 
made at them, scattering forms anti boys in his career. 
Even now they might have escaped, but that in the 
porch, barring retreat, appeared the crafty wheelwright, 
who had been watching all their proceedings. So they 
were seized, the school dismissed, and Tom and J acob 
led away to Squire Brown as lawful prize, the boys 
following to the gate in groups, and sj)eculating on the 
result. 

'The Squire was very angry at first, but the interview, 
by Tom’s pleading, ended in a compromise. Tom 
was not to go near the school till three o’clock, and 
only then if he had done his rvwn lessons well, in which 
case he was to be the bearer of a note to the master 
from Squire Brown, and the master agreed in such 
case to release ten or twelve of the best boys an 
hour before the time of breaking up, to go off and 
play in the close. The wheelwright’s adzes and 
swallows were to be for ever respected ; and that hero 
and the master withdrew to the servants’ hall, to drink 
the Squire’s health, well satisfied with their day’s 
work. 

The second act of Tom’s life may now be said to have 
begun. The war of independence had been over 
for some time : none of the women now, not even his 
mother’s maid, dared offer to help him in dressing or 
washing. Between ourselves, he had often at first to 
run to Benjy in an unfinished state of toilet ; Charity 
and the rest of them seemed to take a delight in 
putting impossible buttons and ties in the middle of his 
back ; but he would have gone without nether integu- 


KIDINQ AND WEESTLING. 


57 


merits altogether sooner than have had recourse to 
female valeting. He had a room to himself, and his 
father gave him sixpence a week pocket-money. All 
this he had achieved by Benjy’s advice and assistance. 
But now he had conquered another step in life, the 
step which all real boys so long to make; he had 
got amongst his equals in age and strength, and could 
measure himself with other boys ; he lived with those 
whose pursuits and wishes and ways were the same in 
kind as his own. 

The little governess who had lately been installed in 
the house found her work grow wondrously easy, for 
Tom slaved at his lessons in order to make' sure of his 
note to the schoolmaster. So there were very few days 
in the week in which Tom and the village boys were 
not playing in their close by three o’clock. Prisoner’s 
base, rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket, football, he 
was soon initiated into the delights of them all ; and 
though most of the boys were older than himself, he 
managed to hold his own very well. He was naturally 
active and strong, and quick of eye and hand, and had 
the advantage of light shoes and well-litting dress, so 
that in a short time he could run and jump and climb 
with any of them. 

They generally finished their regular games half an 
hour or so before tea-time, and then began trials of 
skill and strength in many ways. Some of them 
would catch the Shetland pony who was turned out in 
the field, and get two or three together on his back, 
and the little rogue, enjoying the fun, wpuld gallop off 
for fifty yards, and then turn round, or stop short 
and shoot them on to the turf, and then graze quietly on 


68 


EARLIEST PLAYMATES. 


till he felt another load; others played peg-top oi 
marbles, while a few of the bigger ones stood up for a 
bout at wrestling. Tom at first only looked on at this 
pastime, but it had peculiar attractions for him, and he 
could not long keep out of it. Elbow and collar 
wrestling as practised in the western counties was, 
next to back-swording, the way to fame for the youth of 
the Vale ; and all the boys knew the rules of it, and 
were more or less expert. But Job Budkin and Harry 
Winburn were the stars, the former stiff and sturdy, 
with legs like small towers, the latter pliant as india- 
rubber, and quick as lightning. Day after day they 
stood foot to foot, and offered first one hand and then 
the other, and grappled and closed and swayed and 
strained, till a well-aimed crook of the heel or thrust 
of the loin took effect, and a fair back- fall ended the 
matter. And Tom watched with all his eyes, and first 
challenged one of the less scientific, and threw him ; and 
so one by one wrestled his way up to the leaders. 

Then indeed for months he had a poor time of it; 
it was not long indeed before he could manage to keep 
his legs against Job, for that hero was slow of offence, 
and gained his victories chiefly by allowing others to 
throw themselves against his immoveable legs and 
loins. But Harry Winburn was undeniably his 
master; from the first clutch of hands when they stood 
up, down to the last trip which sent him on his back 
on the turf, he felt that Harry knew more and could 
do more than he. Luckily, Harry’s bright uncon- 
sciousness, and Tom’s natural good temper, kept them 
from ever quarrelling ; and so Torn worked on and on, 
and trod more and more nearly on Harry’s heels, and 


EARLIEST PLAYMATES. 


59 


at last mastered all the dodges and falls except one. 
This ons was Harry’s own particular invention and 
pet ; he scarcely ever used it except when hard pressed? 
but then out it came, and as sure as it did, over went 
poor Tom. He thought about that fall at his meals, 
in his walks, when he lay awake in bed, in his dreams, 
— but all to no purpose ; until Harry one day in his 
open way suggested to him how he thought it should be 
met, and in a week from that time the boys were 
equal, save only the slight difference of strength in 
Harry’s favour which some exba ten months of age 
gave. Tom had often afterwards reason to be thankful 
for that early drilling, and above all for having mas- 
tered Harry Winburn’s fall. 

Besides their home games, on Saturdays the boys 
would wander all over the neighbourhood; sometimes 
to the downs, or up to the camp, where they cut their 
initials out in the springy turf, and watched the hawks 
soaring, and the “ peert ” bird, as Harry Winburn called 
the grey plover, gorgeous in his wedding feathers ; and 
so home, racing down the Manger with many a roll 
among the thistles, or through Uffington-wood to watch 
the fox cubs playing in the green rides ; sometimes to 
Eosy Brook, to cut long whispering reeds which grew 
there, to make pan-pipes of ; sometimes to Moor Mills, 
where was a piece of old forest land, with short browsed 
turf and tufted brambly thickets stretching under the 
oaks, amongst which rumour declared that a raven, last 
of his race, still lingered ; or to the sand-hills, in vain 
quest of rabbits; and bird’s-nesting, in the season, 
anywhere and everywhere. 

The few neighbours of the Squire’s own rank every 


60 


FIRST SCHOOL. 


now and then would shrug their shoulders as they drove 
or rode by a party of boys with Tom in the middle, 
carrying along bulrushes or whispering reeds, or great 
bundles of cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young star- 
lings or magpies, or other spoil of wood, brook, or 
meadow ; and Lawyer Eed-tape might mutter to Squire 
Straightback at the Board, that no good would come of 
the young Browns, if they were let run wild with all 
the dirty village boys, whom the best farmers’ sons 
even would not play with. And the Squire might reply 
with a shake of his head, that Ms sons only mixed with 
their equals, and never went into the village without 
the governess or a footman. But, luckily, Squire 
Brown was full as stiff-backed as his neighbours, and 
so went on his own way; and Tom and his younger 
brothers, as they grew up, went on playing with the 
village boys, without the idea of equality or inequality 
(except in wrestling, running, and climbing,) ever 
entering their heads, as it doesn’t till it’s put there by 
Jack Nasty s or fin6 ladies’ maids. 

I don’t mean to say it would be the case in all 
villages, but it certainly was so in this one ; the village 
boys were full as manly and honest, and certainly purer, 
than those in a higher rank ; and Tom got more harm 
from his equals in his first fortnight at a private school, 
where he went when he was nine years old, than he had 
from his village friends from the day he left Charity’s 
apron-strings. 

Great was the grief amongst the village school-boys 
when Tom drove off with the Squire, one August morn- 
ing, to meet the coach on his way to school. Each of 
them had given him some little present of the best that 


OF PRIVATE SCHOOLS. 


G1 


he had, and his small private box was full of peg-tops, 
white marbles (called “alley-taws ” in the Vale), screws, 
birds’-eggs, whip-cord, jews-harps, and other miscella- 
neous boys’ wealth. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf, in floods 
of tears, had pressed upon him with spluttering earnest- 
ness his lame pet hedgehog (he had always some poor 
broken-down beast or bird by him) ; but this Tom had 
been obliged to refuse by the Squire’s order. He had 
given them all a great tea under the big elm in their 
playground, for which Madam Brown had supplied the 
biggest cake ever seen in our village ; and Tom was 
really as sorry to leave them as they to lose him, but 
his sorrow was not unmixed with the pride and excite- 
ment of making a new step in life. 

And this feeling carried him through his first parting 
with his mother better than could have been expected. 
Their love was as fair and whole as human love can be, 
perfect self-sacrifice on the one side, meeting a young 
and true heart on the other. It is not within the scope 
of my book, however, to speak of family relations, or 
I should have much to say on the subject of English 
mothers, — ay, and of English fathers, and sisters, and 
brothers too. 

Neither have I room to speak of our private schools : 
what I have to say is about public schools, those much- 
abused and much-belauded institutions peculiar to 
England. So we must hurry through Master Tom’s 
year at a private school as fast as we can. 

It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentleman, 
with another gentleman as second master; but it was 
little enough of the real work they did — merely coming 
into school when lessons were prepared and all ready to 


62 


THE USHEKS. 


be heard. The whole discipline of the school out of 
lesson hours was in the hands of the two ushers, one of 
whom was always with the boys in their playground, 
in the school, at meals — in fact, at all times and every- 
where, till they were fairly in bed at night. 

Now the theory of private schools is (or was) con- 
stant supervision out of school ; therein differing funda- 
mentally from that of public schools. 

It may be right or wrong ; but if right, this super- 
vision surely ought to be the especial work of the head- 
master, the responsible person. The object of all schools 
is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to make 
them good English boys, good future citizens ; and by 
far the most important part of that work must be done, 
or not done, out of school hours. To leave it, therefore, 
in the hands of inferior men, is just giving up the 
highest and hardest part of the work of education. 
Were I a private schoolmaster, I should say, let who 
will hear the boys their lessons, but let me live with 
them when they are at play and rest. 

The two ushers at Tom’s first school were not gentle- 
men, and very poorly educated, and were only driving 
their poor trade of usher to get such living as they 
could out of it. They were not bad men, but had little 
heart for their work, and of course were bent on making 
it as easy as possible. One of the methods by which 
they endeavoured to accomplish this, was by encourag- 
ing tale-bearing, which had become a frightfully common 
vice in the school in consequence, and had sapped all 
the foundations of school morality. Another was, by 
favouring grossly the biggest boys, who alone could 
have given them much trouble ; whereby those young 


tom’s first letter home. 


63 


gentlemen became most abominable tyrants, oppressing 
the little boys in all the small mean ways which prevail 
in private schools. 

Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his 
first week, by a catastrophe which happened to his first 
letter home. With huge labour he had, on the veiy 
evening of his arrival, managed to fill two sides of a 
sheet of letter-paper with assurances of his love for 
dear mamma, his happiness at school, and his resolves to 
do all she would wish. This missive, with the help of the 
boy who sat at the desk next him, also a new arrival, 
he managed to fold successfully ; but this done, they 
were sadly put to it for means of sealing. Envelopes 
were then unknown, they had no wax, and dared not 
disturb the stillness of the evening school-room by 
getting up and going to ask the usher for some. At 
length Tom’s friend, being of an ingenious turn of mind, 
suggested sealing with ink, and the letter was accord- 
ingly stuck down with a blob of ink, and duly handed 
by Tom, on his way to bed, to the housekeeper to be 
posted. It was not till four days afterwards, that that 
good dame sent for him, and produced the precious 
letter, and some wax, saying, " Oh, Master Brown, I 
forgot to tell you before, but your letter isn’t sealed.” 
Poor Tom took the wax in silence and sealed his letter, 
with a huge lump rising in his throat during the process, 
and then ran away to a quiet corner of the playground 
and burst into an agony of tears. The idea of his mother 
waiting day after day for the letter he had promised her 
at once, and perhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when 
he had done all in his power to make good his promise, 
was as bitter a grief as any which he had to undergo 


64 


THE AMUSEMENTS. 


for many a long year. His wrath then was proportion- 
ately violent when he was aware of two boys, who 
stopped close by him, and one of whom, a fat gaby 
of a fellow, pointed at him and called him " Young 
mammy-sick ! ” Whereujjon Tom arose, and giving 
vent thus to his grief and shame and rage, smote his 
derider on the nose, and made it bleed — which sent that 
young worthy howling to the usher, who reported Tom 
for violent and unprovoked assault and battery. Hitting 
in the face was a felony punishable with flogging, other 
hitting only a misdemeanour — a distinction not alto- 
gether clear in principle. Tom however escaped the 
penalty by pleading “ primum tempus ; ” and having 
written a second letter to his mother, enclosing some 
forget-me-nots, which he picked on their first half- 
holiday walk, felt quite happy again, and began to enjoy 
vastly a good deal of his new life. 

These half-holiday walks were the great events of the 
week. The whole fifty boys started after dinner with 
one of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was distant 
some mile or so from the school. Hazeldown measured 
some three miles round, and in the neighbourhood w^ere 
several woods full of all manner of birds and butterflies. 
The usher walked slowly round the down with such 
boys as liked to accompany him ; the rest scattered in 
all directions, being only bound to appear again when 
the usher had completed his round, and accompany him ' 
home. They were forbidden, however, to go anywhere 
except on the down and into the woods, the village 
being especially prohibited, where huge bulls’-eyes and 
unctuous toffy might be procured in exchange for coin 
of the realm. 


THE AMUSEMENTS. 


65 


Various were the amusements to which the hoys then 
betook themselves. At the entrance of the down there 
was a steep hillock, like the barrows of Tom’s own 
downs. This mound was the weekly scene of terrific 
combats, at a game called by the queer name of mud- 
patties.” The boys who played divided into sides under 
different leaders, and one side occupied the mound. 
Then, all parties having provided themselves with many 
sods of turf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the 
side which remained at the bottom proceeded to assault 
the mound, advancing upon all sides under cover of a 
heavy fire of turfs, and then struggling for victory with 
the occupants, which was theirs as soon as they could, 
even for a moment, clear the summit, when they in turn 
became the besieged. It was a good rough dirty game, 
and of great use in counteracting the sneaking tenden- 
cies of the school. Then others of the boys spread 
over the downs, looking for the holes of humble-bees 
and mice, which they dug up without mercy, often (I 
regret to say) killing and skinning the unlucky mice, 
and (I do not regret to say) getting well stung by the 
humble-bees. Others went after butterflies and birds’- 
eggs in their seasons ; and Tom found on Hazeldown, 
for the first time, the beautiful little blue butterfly with 
golden spots on his wings, which he had never seen on 
his own downs, and dug out his first sand-martin’s nest. 
This latter achievement resulted in a flogging, for the 
sand-martins built in a high bank close to the village, 
consequently out of bounds; but one of the bolder 
spirits of the school, who never could be happy unless 
he was doing something to which risk attached, easily 
persuaded Tom to break bounds and visit the martin’s 
bank. From whence it being only a step to the toffy- 


66 


THE EEPKOBATE. 


shop, what could be more simple than to go on there 
and fill their pockets ; or what more certain than that 
on their return, a distribution of treasure having been 
made, the usher should shortly detect the forbidden 
smell of bulls’-eyes, and, a search ensuing, discover the 
state of the breeches -pockets of Tom and his ally ? 

This ally of Tom’s was indeed a desperate hero in 
the sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt 
in magic, or something approaching thereto. Which 
reputation came to him in this wise. The boys went 
to bed at eight, and of course consequently lay awake 
in t e dark for an hour or two, telling ghost-stories by 
turns. One night when it came to his turn, and he 
had dried up their souls by his story, he suddenly 
declared that he would make a fiery hand appear on 
the door; and to the astonishment and terror of the 
boys in his room, a hand, or something like it, in pale 
light, did then and there appear. The fame of this 
exploit having spread to the other rooms, and being 
discredited there, the young necromancer declared that 
the same wonder would appear in all the rooms in turn, 
which it accordingly did ; and the whole circumstances 
having been privately reported to one of the ushers as 
usual, that functionary, after listening about at the 
doors of the rooms, by a sudden descent caught the 
performer in his night-shirt, with a box of phosphorus 
in his guilty hand. Lucifer-matches and all the present 
facilities for getting acquainted with fire were then 
unknown ; the very name of phosphorus had something 
diabolic in it to the boy-mind ; so Tom’s ally, at the cost 
of a sound flogging, earned what many older folk coveu 
much — the very decided fear of most of his companions. 

lie was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad 


TOM PREPARES FOR RUGBY. 67 

one, Tom stuck to him till he left, and got into many 
scrapes by so doing. But he was the great opponent 
of the tale-bearing habits of the school, and the open 
enemy of the ushers ; and so worthy of all support. 

Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at 
the school, but somehow on the whole it didn’t suit 
him, or he it, and in the holidays he was constantly 
working the Squire to send him at once to a public 
school. Great was his joy then, when in the middle 
of his third half-year, in October, 183-, a fever broke 
out in the village, and the master having himself slightly 
sickened of it, the whole of the boys were sent off at a 
day’s notice to their respective homes. 

The Squire was not quite so pleased as Master Tom 
to see that young gentleman’s brown merry face appear 
at home, some two months before the proper time, for 
Christmas holidays : and so after putting on his thinking 
cap, he retired to his study and wrote several letters ; 
the result of which was that one morning at the 
breakfast-table, about a fortnight after Tom’s return, he 
addressed his wife with — “My dear, I have arranged 
that Tom shall go to Rugby at once, for the last six 
weeks of this half-year, instead of wasting them riding 
and loitering about home. It is very kind of the Doctor 
to allow it. Will you see that his things are all ready 
by Friday, when I shall take him up to town, and send 
liim down the next day by himself.” 

Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and 
merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were yet old 
enough to travel hy himself. However, finding both 
father and son against her on this point, she gave in 
like a wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom’s kit 
for his launch into a public school. 

F 2 


68 


TOM ARRIVES IN TOWN. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

“Let the steara-pot hiss till it’s hot. 

Give me the speed of the Tantivy trot.” 

Coaching Song by R. E. E. Warburton, Esq, 


ijOW, sir, time to get 
up, if you please. 
Tally-lio coach for 
Leicester ’ll he 
round in half-an- 
hour, and don’t wait 
for nobody.” So 
spake the Boots of 
the Peacock Inn, 
Islington, at half- 
past two o’clock on 
the morning of a 
day in the early 
part of November, 
183-, giving Tom 
at the same time 
a shake by the 
shoulder, and then 
putting down a candle and carrying off his shoes to 
clean. 

Tom and his father had arrived in town from Berk- 
shire the day before, and finding, on inquiry, that the 
Birmingham coaches which ran from the city did not 



THE PEACOCK, ISLINGTON. 


69 


pass through Eughy, hut deposited their passengers at 
Dunchurch, a village three miles distant on the main 
road — where said passengers had to wait for the Oxford 
and Leicester coach in the evening, or to take a post- 
chaise — had resolved that Tom should travel down by 
the Tally-ho, which diverged from the main road and 
passed through Engby itself. And as the Tally-ho 
was an early coach, they had driven out to the Peacock 
to be on the road. 

Tom had never been in London, and would have 
liked to have stopped at the Belle Sauvage, where they 
had been put down by the Star, just at dusk, that he 
might have gone roving about those endless, mysterious, . 
gas-lit streets, which, with their glare ,and hum and 
moving crowds, excited him so that he couldn’t talk 
even. But as soon as he found that the il^acock 
arrangement would get him to Eugby by twelve o’clock 
in the day, whereas otherwise he wouldn’t be there 
till the evening, all other plans melted away; his one 
absorbing aim being to become a public schoolboy as 
fast as possible, and six hours sooner or later seeming 
to him of the most alarming importance. 

Tom and his father had alighted at the Peacock at 
about seven in the evening, and having heard with 
unfeigned joy the paternal order at the bar, of steaks 
and oyster sauce for supper in half an hour, and seen his 
father seated cozily by the bright fire in the coffee-room 
with the paper in his hand — Tom had run out to see 
about him, had wondered at all the vehicles passing 
and repassing, and had fraternised with the boots and 
ostler, from whom he ascertained that the Tally-ho was 
a tip-top goer, ten miles an hour including stoppages 


70 SQUIKE brown’s PARTING WORDS. 

and so punctual that all the road set their clocks by 
her. 

then being summoned to supper he had regaled 
himself in one of the bright little boxes of the Peacock 
coffee-room on the beef-steak and unlimited oyster- 
sauce and brown stout (tasted then for the first time 
— a day to be marked for ever by Tom with a white 
stone) ; l^d at first attended to the excellent advice 
which his father was bestowing on him from over his 
glass of - steamings brandy and water, and then begun 
nodding from the united effects of the stout, the fire, 
and the lecture. Till . the Squire observing Tom’s state, 
and remembering that it was nearly nine o’clock, and 
that the Tally-ho left at three,’' sent the little fellow off 
to the chambermaid, with a shake of the hand (Tom 
having stipulated in the morning before starting, that 
kissing should now cease between them,) and a few 
parting words. 

“And now, Tom, my boy,” said the Squire, “re- 
member you are going, at your own earnest request, to 
be chuched into this great school, like a young bear 
with all your troubles before you — earlier than we should 
have sent you perhaps. If schools are what they were 
in my time, you’ll see a great many cruel blackguard 
things done, and hear a deal of foul bad talk. But 
never fear. You 'tell the truth, keep a brave and kind 
heart, and never listen to or say anything you wouldn’t 
have your mother and sister hear, and you’ll never feel 
ashamed to come home, or we to see you.” 

The allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather 
chokey, and he would have liked to have hugged his 
father well, if it hadn’t been for the recent stipulation. 


THE squire’s meditations. 71 

As it was, he only squeezed his father’s hand, and 
looked bravely up and said, “ I’ll try, father.” 

“I know you will, my boy. • Is your money all 
safe?” 

“Yes,” said Tom, diving into one pocket to make sure. 

“And your keys?” said the Squire. 

“ All right,” said Tom, diving into the other pocket. • 

“Well then, good night. God bless you! I’ll tell 
Boots to call you, and be up to see you off.” 

Tom was carried off by the chambermaid in a brown 
study, from which he was roused in a clean little attic 
by that buxom person calling him a little darling, and 
kissing him as she left the room, which indignity he 
was too much surprised to resent. And still thinking 
of his father’s last words, and the look with which they 
were spoken, he knelt down and prayed, that, come what 
might, he might never bring shame or sorrow on the 
dear folk at home. 

Indeed, the Squire’s last words deserved to have their 
effect, for they had been the result of much anxious 
thought. All the way up to London he had pondered 
what he should say to Tom by way of parting advice, 
something that the boy could keep in his head ready for 
use. By way of assisting meditation, he had even gone 
the length of taking out his flint and steel and tinder, 
and hammering away for a quarter of an hour till he had 
manufactured a light for a long Trichinopoli cheroot, 
which he sileutly puffed ; to the no small wonder of 
Coachee, who was an old friend, and an institution on 
the Bath road; and who always expected a talk on the 
prospedts . and doings, agricultural -and social, of the 
whole county when he carried the Squire. 


72 


TOM PREPARES FOE HIS JOURNEY. 


To condense the Squire’s meditation, it was some- 
what as follows : ‘‘ I won’t tell him to read his Bible 
and love and serve God ; if he don’t do that for his 
mother’s sake and teaching, he won’t for mine. Shall 
I go into the sort of temptations he’ll meet with ? No, 
I can’t do that.t^ Never do for an old fellow to go into 
such things with a boy. lie won’t understand me. Do 
him more harm than good, ten to one. Shall I tell him 
to mind his work, and say he’s sent to school to make 
himself a good scholar? Well, but he isn’t sent to 
school for that — at any rate, not for that mainly. I 
don’t care a straw for Greek particles, or the digamma, 
no more does his mother. What is he sent to school 
for ? Well, partly because he wanted so to go. If he’ll 
only turn out a brave, helpful, truth-telling Englishman, 
and a gentleman, and a Christian, that’s all I want,” 
thought the Squire ; and upon this view of the case 
framed his last words of advice to Tom, which were well 
enough suited to his purpose. 

For they were Tom’s first thoughts as he tumbled 
out of bed at the summons of Boots, and proceeded 
rapidly to wash and dress himself. At ten minutes to 
three he was 'down in the coffee-room in his stockings, , 
carrying his hat-box, coat, and comforter in his hand ; ’ 
and there he found his father nursing a bright fire 
and a cup of hot coffee end a hard biscuit on the table. ’ 

“Now then, Tom, give us your things here, and drink 
this ; there’s nothing like starting warm, old fellow.” 

Tom addressed himelf to the coffee, and prattled 
away while he worked himself into his shoes and his 
great-coat, well warmed through; a Petersham coat 
with velvet collar, made tight, after the abominable 


THE "TALLY-HOJ 


73 


fashion of those days. And just as he is swallowing 
his last mouthful, winding his comforter round his throat, 
and tucking the ends into the breast of his coat, the horn 
sounds, Boots looks in and says, “Tally-ho, sir;” and 
they hear the ring and the rattle of the four fast trotters 
and the town- made drag, as it dashes up to the Peacock. 

“ Anything for us, Bob ?” says the burly guard, drop- 
ping down from behind, and slapping himself across 
the chest. 

“Young genl’m’n, Eugby; three parcels, Leicester; 
hamper o’ game, Eugby,” answers ostler. 

“ Tell young gent to look alive,” says guard, opening 
the hind-boot and shooting in the parcels after examining 
them by the lamps. “Here, shove the portmanteau up 
a-top — I’ll fasten him presently. Now then, sir, jump 
up behind.” 

'• “ Good-bye, father, — my love at home.” A last shake 
of the hand. Up goes Tom, the guard catching his 
hat-box and holding on with one hand, while with the 
other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot ! 
the ostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at 
the collar, and away goes the Tally-ho into the darkness, 
forty-five seconds from the time they pulled up ; Ostler, 
Boots, and the Sq^uire stand looking after them under 
the Peacock lamp. 

“ Sharp w'ork ! ” says the Squire, and goes in again 
to his bed, the coach being well out of sight and hearing. 

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at his 
father’s figure as long as he can see it, and then the 
guard having disposed of his luggage comes to an anchor, 
and finishes his buttonings and other preparations for 
facing the three hours before dawn; no joke for those 


74 


A NOVEMEEE KIDE IN OLD TIME. 


who minded cold, on a fast coach in November, in the 
reign of his late majesty. 

I sometimes think that you boys of this generation 
are a deal tenderer fellows than we used to be. At any 
rate, you’re much more comfortable travellers, for I see 
every one of you with his rug or plaid, and other dodges 
for preserving the caloric, and most of you going in 
those fuzzy, dusty, padded first-class carriages. It w^as 
another affair altogether, a dark ride on the top of the 
Tally-ho, I can tell you, in a tight Petersham coat, and 
your feet dangling six inches from the floor. Then you 
knew what cold was, and what it was to be without legs> 
for not a bit of feeling had you in them after the first 
half-hour. But it had its pleasures, the old dark ride. 
First there was the consciousness of silent endurance, 
so dear to every Englishman, — of standing out against 
something, and not giving in. Then there was the 
music of the rattling harness, and the ring of the horses^ 
feet on the hard road, and the glare of the two bright 
lamps through the steaming hoar frost, over the leaders’ 
ears, into the darkness; and the cheery toot of the 
guard’s horn, to warn some drowsy pikeman or the 
ostler at the next change ; and the looking forward to 
daylight — and last, but not least, the delight of returning 
sensation in your toes. 

Then the break of dawn and the sunrise ; where can 
they be ever seen in perfection but from a coach roof? 
You want motion and change and music to see them in 
their glory ; not the music of singing-men and singing- 
women, but good silent music, wdiich sets itself in your 
own head the accompaniment of work and getting over 
the ground. 


75 


"PULLING UP.” 

The Tally-ho is past St. Alban’s, and Tom is 
enjoying the ride, though half-frozen. The guard, 
who is alone with him on the back of the coach, is 
silent, but has muffled Tom’s feet up in straw, and put 
the end of an oat-sack over his knees. The darkness 
has driven him inwards, and he has gone over his little 
past life, and thought of all his doings and promises, 
and of his mother and sister, and his father’s last words ; 
and has made fifty good resolutions, and means to bear 
himself like a brave Brown as he is, though a young one. 

Then he has been forward into the mysterious boy- 
future, speculating as to what sort of a place Rugby is, and 
what they do there, and calling up all the stories of 
public schools which he has heard from big boys in the 
holidays. He is chock full of hope and life, notwith- 
standing the cold, and kicks his heels against the back 
board, and would like to sing, only he doesn’t know how 
his friend the silent guard might take it. 

And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth 
stage, and the coach pulls up at a little road-side inn 
with huge stables behind. There is a bright fire gleam- 
ing through the red curtains of the bar- window, and 
the door is open. The coachman catches his whip into 
a double thong, and throws it to the ostler ; the steam 
of the horses rises straight up into the air. He has put 
them along oyer the last two miles, and is two minutes 
before his time ; he rolls down from the box and into 
the inn. The guard rolls off behind. " Now, sir,” 
says he to Tom, "you just jump down, and I’ll give 
you a drop of something to keep the cold out.” 

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in finding 
the top of the wheel with his feet, which may be in the 


76 


MOENING SIGHTS AND DOIKGS. 


next world for all lie feels ; so the guard picks him off 
the coach-top, and sets him on his legs, and they stump 
off into the bar, and join the coachman and the other 
outside passengers. 

Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with 
a glass of early purl as they stand before the lire, coach- 
man and guard exchanging business remarks. The 
purl warms the cockles of Tom’s heart, and makes him 
cough. 

Eare tackle, that, sir, of a cold morning,” says the 
coachman, smiling. “ Time’s up.” They are out again 
and up ; coachee the last, gathering the reins into his 
hands and talking to Jem the ostler about the mare’s 
shoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the box — 
the horses dashing off in a canter before he falls into his 
seat. Toot-toot-tootle-too goes the horn, and away they 
are again, five-and-thirty miles on their road (nearly 
half way to Eugby, thinks Tom), and the prospect of 
breakfast 'at the end of the stage. 

And now they begin to see, and the early life of the 
country-side comes out; a market cart or two, men in 
smock-frocks going to their work pipe in mouth, a 
whiff of which is no bad smell this bright morning. 
The sun gets up, and the mist shines like silver gauze. 
They pass the hounds jogging along to a distant meet, 
at the heels of the huntsman’s hack, whose face is about 
the colour of the tails of his old pink, as he exchanges 
greetings with coachman and guard. Now they pull up 
at'a lodge, and take on board a well-muffled-up sports- 
man, with his gun-case and carpet-bag. An early up- 
coach meets them, and the coachmen gather up their 
horses, and pass one another with the accustomed lift of 


BKEAKFAST. 


77 


the elbow, each team doing eleven miles an hour, with a 
mile to spare behind if necessary. And here comes 
breakfast. 

“ Twenty minutes here, gentlemen,” says the coach- 
man as they pull up at half-past seven at the inn door. 

Have we not endured nobly, this morning, and is 
not this a worthy reward for much endurance ? There 
is the low dark wainscoted room hung with sporting 
prints ; the hat-stand (with a whip or two standing up 
in it belonging to bagmen who are still snug in bed) 
by the door; the blazing fire, with the quaint old ‘glass 
over the mantelpiece, in which is stuck a large card 
with the list of the meets for the week of the county 
hoimds. The table covered with the whitest of cloths 
and of china, and bearing a pigeon-pie, ham, round of 
cold boiled beef cut from a mammoth ox, and the great 
loaf of household bread on a wooden trencher. And 
here comes in the stout head waiter, puffing under a tray 
of hot viands ; kidneys and a steak, transparent rashers 
and poached eggs, buttered toast and muffins, coffee 
and tea, all smoking hot. The table can never hold 
it all; the cold meats are removed to the sideboard, 
they were only put on for show and to give us an 
appetite. And now fall on, gentlemen all. It is a well- 
known sporting-house, and the breakfasts are famous. 
Two or three men in pink, on their way to the meet, 
drop in, and are very jovial and sharp-set, as indeed we 
all are. 

" Tea or coffee, sir ? ” says head waiter, coming round 
to Tom. 

“Coffee please,” says Tom, with his mouth full of 
muffin and kidney ; coffee is a treat to him, tea is not. 


78 


« PUttING-TO ** AGAIN. 

Our coachmau, I perceive, Tvho breakfaets with ns, 
is a cold-beef man. He also eschews hot potations, and 
addicts himself to a tankard of ale, which is brought 
him by the barmaid. Sportsman looks on approvingly, 
and orders a ditto for himself. 

Tom has eaten kidney and pigeon-pie, and imbibed 
coffee, till his little skin is as tight as a drum ; and 
then has the further pleasure of paying head waiter out 
of his own purse, in a dignified manner, and walks out 
before the inn door to see the horses put to. This 
is done leisurely and in a highly-finished manner by 
the ostlers, as if they enjoyed the not being hurried. 
Coachman comes out with his way-bill, and pufling a 
fat cigar which the sportsman has given him. Guard 
emerges from the tap, where he prefers breakfasting, 
licking round a tough-looking doubtful cheroot, which 
you might tie round your finger, and three whiffs, of 
which would knopk any one else out of time. 

The pinks stand about the inn door lighting cigars 
and waiting to see us start, while their hacks are led 
up and down the market-place on which the inn looks. 
They all know our sportsman, and we feel a reflected 
credit when we see him chatting and laughing with 
them. 

“ Now, sir, please,” says the coachman ; all the rest 
of the passengers are up ; the guard is locking the 
hind boot. 

A good run to you ! ” says the sportsman to the 
pinks, and is by the coachman’s side in no time. 

“Let ’em go, Dick!” The ostlers fly back, draw- 
ing off the cloths from their glossy loins, and away we 
go through the market-place and down the High 


GUARD DISCOURSES ON RUGBY. 


79 


Street, looking in at the first-floor windows, and seeing 
several worthy burgesses shaving thereat ; while all 
the shop-boys who are cleaning the windows, and 
housemaids who are doing the steps, stop and look 
pleased as we rattle past, as if we were a part of their 
legitimate morning’s amusement. We clear the town, 
and are well out between the hedgerows again as the 
town clock strikes eight. 

The sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast has 
oiled all springs and loosened all tongues. Tom is 
encouraged by a remark or two of the guard’s between 
the puffs of his oily cheroot, and besides is getting 
tired Df not talking ; he is too full of his destination 
to talk about anything else ; and so asks the guard if 
he knows liugby. 

“ Goes through it every day of my life. Twenty 
minutes afore twelve down— ten o’clock up.” 

“ What sort of a place is it, please ? ” says Tom. 

Guard looks at him with a comical expression. 
“Werry out-o’-the-way place, sir; no paving to the 
streets nor no lighting. ’Mazin’ big horse and cattle 
fair in autumn — lasts a week — just over now. Takes 
town a week .to get clean after it. Fairish hunting 
country. But slow place, sir, slow place : off the main 
road, you see — only three coaches a day, and one on 
’em a two-oss wan, more like a hearse nor a coach — 
Eegulator — comes from Oxford. Young genl’iiTn at 
school calls her Pig and Whistle, and goes up to 
college by her (six miles an hour) when they goes to 
enter. Belong to school, sir ?” 

“Yes,” says Tom, not unwilling for a moment that 
the guard should think him an old boy. But then 


PEA-SHOOTEKS. 


80 ' 


1 








having some qualms as to the truth of the assertion, 
and seeing that if he were to assume, the character of 
an old boy he couldn’t go on asking the questions he 
wanted, added — “that is to say, I’m on my way there. 
I’m a new boy.” 

The guard looked as if he knew this quite as well 
as Tom. 

‘‘ You’re werry late, sir,” says the guard ; “ only six 
weeks to-day to the end of the half.” Tom assented. 
“ We takes up fine loads this day six weeks, and 
Monday and Tuesday arter. Hopes we shall have the 
pleasure of carrying you back.” 

Tom said he hoped they would ; but he thought 
within himself that his fate would probably be the 
Pig and Whistle. 

“ It pays uncommon, cert’nly,” continues the guard. 
“ Werry free with their cash is the young genl’ni’n. 
]^at, Lor’ bless you, we gets into such rows all ’long 
the road, what wi’ their pea-shooters, and long whips, 
and hollering, and upsetting every one as comes by; 
I’d a sight sooner carry one or two on ’em, sir, as I 
may be a carryin’ of you now, than a coach-load.” 

“ What do they do with the pea-shooters ?” inquires 
Tom. 

“ Do wi’ ’em ! why, peppers every one’s faces as we 
comes near, ’cept the young gals, and breaks windows 
wi’ them too, some on ’em shoots so hard. Now ’twas 
just here last June, as we was a driving up the first- 
day boys, they was mendin’ a quarter-mile of road, 
and there was a lot of Irish chaps, reg’lar roughs, a 
breaking stones. As we comes up, ‘ Now, boys,’ says 
young gent on the box (smart young fellow and 


BATTLE WITH THE PATS. 81 

desper’t reckless), liere’s fun! Let the Pats have it 
about the ears/ ‘God’s sake, sir!’ says Bob (that’s 
my mate the coachman), ‘ don’t go for to shoot at ’em, 
they’ll knock ns off the coach/ ‘ Damme, coachee, 
says young my lord, ‘ yon ain’t afraid ; hoora, boys ! 
let ’em have it/ ‘ Hoora ! ’ sings out the others, and 
fill their mouths chock full of peas to last the whole 
line. Bob seeing as ’twas to come, knocks his hat 
over his eyes, hollers to Ins ’osses, and shakes ’emmp, 
and away we goes np to the line on ’em, twenty miles 
an hour. The Pats begin to hoora too, thinking it 
was a runaway, and first lot on ’em stands griimin’ 
and wavin’ their old hats as we comes abreast on ’em ; 
and then you^d ha’ laughed to see how took aback and 
choking savage they looked when they gets the peas 
a stinging all over ’em. But bless you, the laugh 
weren’t all of our side, sir, by a long way. We was 
going so fast, and they was so took aback, that tney 
didn’t take wdiat was up till we was half-way up th^ 
line. Then ’twas ‘look out all,’ surely. They howls 
all down the line fit to frighten you, some on ’em 
runs arter us and tries to clamber up behind, only we 
hits ’em over the fingers and pulls their hands off; 
one as had had it very sharp act’ly runs right at the 
leaders, as though he’d ketch ’em by the heads, only 
luck’ly for him he misses his tip, and comes over a 
heap o’ stones, first. The rest picks up stones, and 
gives it us right away till we gets out o’ shot, the 
young gents holding out werry manful with the pea- 
shooters and such stones as lodged on us, and a pretty 
many there was too. Then Bob picks hisself up again, 
and looks at young gent on box werry solemn. Bob’d 

G 


82 


EESULT OF THE FIGHT. 


had a rum un in the ribs, winch’d like to ha' knocked 
him off the box, or made him drop the reins. Young 
gent on box picks hisself up, and so does we all, and 
looks round to count^ damage. Box’s head cut open 
and his hat gone ; ’nother young gent’s hat gone : 
mine knocked in at the side, and not one on us as 
wasn’t black and blue somewheres or another ; most on 
’em all over. Two -pound-ten to pay for damage to 
paint, which they subscribed for there and then, and 
give Bob and me a extra half-sovereign each; but I 
wouldn’t go down that line again not. for twenty half- 
sovereigns.” And the guard shook his head slowly, 
and got up and blew a clear brisk toot-toot. 

‘‘ What fun ! ” said Tom, who could scarcely contain 
his pride at this exploit of his future schoolfellows. 
He longed already for the end of the half, that he 
might join them. 

“’Taint such good fun though, sir, for the folk as 
meets the coach, nor for we who has to go back with it 
next day. Them Irishers last summer had all got 
stones ready for us, and was all but letting drive, and 
we’d got two reverend gents aboard too. We pulled 
up at the beginning of the line,* and pacified them, 
and were never going,. to carry no more pea-shooters, 
unless they promises not to fire where there’s a line 
of Irish chaps a stone-breaking.” The guard stopped 
and pulled away at his cheroot, regarding Tom be- 
nignantly the while. 

“ Oh, don’t stop I tell us something more about the 
pea-shooting.” 

“Well, there’d like to have been a pretty piece of 
work over it at Bicester, a while back. We was six 


THE OLD YEOMAN. 


83 


mile from the town, when we meets an old square- 
headed grey-haired yeoman chap, a jogging along 
quite quiet. He looks up at the coach, and just then 
a pea hits him on the nose, and some ketches his cob 
behind and makes him dance up on his hind legs. I 
see’d the old boy's face flush and look plaguy awkward, 
and I thought we was in for somethin’ nasty. 

‘‘He turns his cob’s head, and rides quietly after 
us ji^st out of shot. How that ere cob did step ! we 
never shook him off not a dozen yards in the six mile. 
At first the young gents was werry lively on him ; but 
afore we got in, seeing how steady the old chap come 
on, they was quite quiet, and laid their heads together 
what they should do. Some was for fighting, some for 
axing his pardon. He rides into the town close after 
us, comes up when we stops, and says the two as shot 
at him must come before a magisti^ate; and a great 
crowd comes round, and we couldn’t get the ’osses to. 
But the young uns, they all stand by one another, and 
says all or none must go, and as how they’d fight it 
out, and have to be carried. Just as 'twas gettin’ 
serious, and the old boy and the mob was goin’ to pull 
’em off the coach,, one little fellow jumps up and says, 
‘Here — I’ll stay, — I’m only going three miles further. 
My father’s name’s Davis ; he’s known about here, and 
I’ll go before the magistrate with this gentleman.’ 
‘ What, be thee parson Davis’s son ? ’ says the old boy. 
‘ Yes,’ says the young un. ‘ Well, I be mortal sorry 
to meet thee in such company, but for thy father’s sake 
and thine (for thee bi’st a brave young chap) I’ll say 
no more about it.’ Didn’t the boys che^.r him, and the 
mob cheered the young chap — and then one of the 

G 2 


84 


BLOW-HAED AND HIS YARNS 


blcfgest gets down. And begs his pardon werry gentle- 
manly for all the rest, saying as they all had been 
plaguy ^vexed from the first, but didn’t like to ax his 
pardon lill then, ’cause they felt they hadn’t ought to 
shirk the consequences of their joke. And then they 
all got down and shook hands with the old boy, and 
asked him to all parts of the country, to their homes ; 
and we drives off twenty minutes behind time, with 
cheering and hollering as if we was county members. 
But, Lor’ bless you, sir,” says the guard, smacking his 
hand down on his knee and looking full into Tom’s 
face, “ten minutes arter they was all as bad as 
ever.” 

Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed 
interest in his narrations, 'that the old guard rubbed up 
his memory, and launched out into a graphic history of 
all the performances of the boys on the road for the 
last twenty years. Off the road he couldn’t go; the 
exploit must • have been connected with horses or 
vehicles to 'hang in the old fellow’s head. Tom tried 
him off his own ground once or twice, but found he 
knew, no thing beyond, and so let him have his head, 
and the rest of the road bowled easily away; for old 
Blow-hard (as the boys called him) was a dry old file, 
with much kindness and humour, and a capital spinner 
of a yarn when he had broken the neck of his day’s 
^ work and got plenty of ale under his belt. 

What struck Tom’s youthful imagination most was 
the desperate and lawless character of most of the 
stories. Was the guard hoaxing him? He couldn’t 
help hoping that they were true. It’s v6ry odd how 
, almost all English boys love danger ; you can get ten 


THE RUNNERS. 


85 


to join a game, or climb a tree, or swim a stream^ 
when there’s a chance of breaking their limbs or 
getting drowned, for one who’ll stay on level ground, 
or in his depth, or play quoits or bowls. 

The guard had just finished an account of a despe- 
rate fight which had happened at one of the fairs, 
between the drovers and the farmers with their whips, 
and the boys with cricket-bats and wickets, which arose 
out of a playful but objectionable practice of the boys 
going round to the public-houses and taking the linch- 
pins out of the wheels of the gigs, and was moralising 
upon the way in which the Doctor, “a terrible stern 
man he’d heard tell,” had come down upon several of 
the performers, “ sending three on ’em off next morn- 
ing, each in a po-chay with a parish constable,” when 
they turned a corner and neared the milestone, the 
third from Kugby. By the stone two boys stood, their 
jackets buttoned tight, waiting for the coach. 

Look here, sir,” says the guard, .^fter giving a 
sharp toot-toot, ‘ “ there’s two on ’em ; out and out 
runners they be. They come out about twice or three 
times a week, and spirts a mile alongside of us.”,.- r‘ 

And as they came up, sure enough, away went 
two boys along the footpath, keeping up with the 
horses ; the first a light clean-made fellow going 
on springs, the other stout and round-shouldered, 
labouring in his pace, but going as dogged as a bull- 
terrier. 

Old Blow-hard looked on admiringly. ‘"See how 
beautiful that there un holds hisself together, and goes 
from his hips, sir,” said he ; “ he’s a ’mazin’ fine 
runner. Now, many coachmen as drives a first-rate- 


86 TOM DELIGHTED WITH HIS JOUKNET. 

team’d put it on and try and pass ’em. But Bob, sir, 
bless you, he’s tender-hearted; he’d sooner pull in a 
bit if he see’i ’em a gettin’ beat. I do b’lieve too as 
that there un’d sooner break his heart than let us go 
by him afore next milestone.” 

At the second milestone the boys pulled up short 
and waved their hats to the guard, who had his watch 
' ';ut and shouted “4.56,” thereby indicating that the 
mile had been done in four seconds under the five 
minutes. They passed several more parties of boys, 
all of them objects of the deepest interest to Tom, and 
came in sight of the town at ten minutes before twelve. 
Tom fetched a long breath, and thought he had never 
* spent a pleasanter day. Before he went to bed he had 
quite settled that it must be the greatest day he should 
. ever spend, and didn’t alter his opinion for many a long 
year — if he has yet. 


ARRIVAL AT RUGBY, 


87 



CHAPTER V. 

RUGBY AND FOOTBALL. 

“ — Foot and eye opposed 
In dubious strife." 

Scott. 

N'D SO here’s Rugby, 
sir, at last, and you’ll 
be in plenty of time, 
for dinner at tho* 
School - liouse, as T 
toll’d you,” said tho 
old guard, pulling his 
horn out of its case, 
and tootle - tooing 
away ; while the 
coachman shook up 
his horses, and carried 
them along the side 
of the school close, 
round Dead - man’s 
Corner, past the school 
rates, and down the 
High Street to the 
Spread Eagle ; the wheelers in a spanking trot, and 
leaders cantering, in a style which would not have 



88 


TOM FINDS A PATRON. 


disgraced “Cherry Bob,” ‘‘ramping, stamping, tearing 
swearing Billy Harwood,” or any other of the old 
coaching heroes. 

Tom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great school 
field or close, with its noble elms, in which several 
games at football were going on, and tried to take in 
at once the long line of grey buildings, beginning with 
the chapel, and ending with the School-house, the resi- 
dence of the head-master, where the great flag was 
lazily waving from the highest round tower. And he 
began already to be proud of being a Bugby boy, as he 
passed the school-gates, with the oriel-window above, 
and saw the boys standing there, looking as if the town 
belonged to them, and nodding in a familiar manner to 
the coachman, as if any one of them would be quite 
equal to getting on the box and working the team down 
street as well as he. 

One of the young heroes, however, ran out from the 
rest, and scrambled up behind ; where, having righted 
himself and nodded to the guard with “ How do, Jem ? ” 
he turned short round to Tom, and, after looking him 
over for a minute, began — 

“ I say, you fellow, is your name Brown ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Tom, in considerable astonishment ; glad 
however to have lighted on some one already who 
seemed to know him. 

“Ah, I thought so; you know my old aunt, Miss 
East ; she lives somewhere down your way in Berkshire. 
She wrote to me that you were coming to-day, and 
asked me to give you a lift.” 

Tom was somewhat inclined to resent the patronizing 
air of his new friend — a boy of just about his own height 


iESTHETICS OF " EOOFING.’ 


89 


and age, but gifted witli the most transcendent coolness 
and assurance, which Tom felt to be aggravating and 
hard to bear, but couldn’t for the life of him help 
admiring and envying — especially when young my lord 
begins hectoring two or three long loafing fellows, half- 
porter, half stableman, with a strong touch of the black- 
guard, and in the end arranges with one of them, 
nicknamed Cooey, to carry Tom’s luggage up to the 
School-house for sixpence. 

And heark’ee, Cooey, it must be up in ten minutes, 
or no more jobs from me. Come along, Brown.” And 
aw’ay swaggers the young potentate, with his hands in 
his pockets, and Tom at his side. 

“All right, sir,” says Cooey, touching his hat, with a 
leer and a wink at his companions. 

“Hullo though,” says East, pulling up, and taking 
another look at Tom, “this’ll never do— haven’t you 
got a hat ? — we never wear caps here. Only the louts 
wear caps. Bless you, if you were to go into the quad- 
rangle with that thing on, I don’t know what’d 

happen.” The very idea was quite beyond young 
Master East, and he looked unutterable things. 

Tom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but con- 
fessed that he had a hat in his hat-box ; which was 
accordingly at once extracted from the hind boot, and 
Tom equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, as his new 
friend called it. But this didn’t quite suit his fastidious 
taste in another minute, being too shiny; so, as they 
walk up the town, they dive into Nixon’s the hatter’s, 
and Tom is arrayed, to his utter astonishment, and 
without paying for it, in a regulation cat-skin at 
seven-and-sixpence ; Nixon undertaking to send the 


90 INTKODUCTION TO THE MATRON. 

best hat up to the matron’s room, School-house, in half 
an hour. 

" You can send in a note for a tile on INTonday, and 
make it all right, you know,” said Mentor ; “ we’re 
allowed two seven-and-sixers a half, besides ■'wliat* we 
bring from home.” 

Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new 
social position and dignities, and to luxuriate in the 
realized ambition of being a public-school boy at last, 

‘ with' a vested right of spoiling two seven-and-sixers in 
half a year. 

“You see,” said his friend, as they strolled up to- 
wards the school gates, in explanation of his conduct — 
“ a great deal depends on how a fellow cuts up at first. 
If he’s got nothing odd abo'ut him, and answers straight- 
forward and holds his head up, he gets on. Now you’ll 
do very well as to rig, all but that cap. You see I’m 
doing the handsome thing by you, because my father 
knows yours ; besides, I want to please the old lady. She 
gave me a half-a-sov. this half, and perhaps’ll double it 
next, if I keep in her good books.” 

There’s nothing for candour like a lower-school boy ; 
and East was a genuine specimen — frank, hearty, and 
good-natured, well satisfied with himself and his posi- 
tion, and chock full of life and spirits, and all the Kugby 
prejudices and traditions which he had been able to get 
together, in the long course of one half year, during 
which he had been at the School-house. 

And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt 
friends with him at once, and began sucking in all his ways 
and prejudices, as fast as he could understand them. 

East was great in the character of cicerom ; he 


east’s study. 


91 


carried Tom through the great gates, where were only 
two or three boys. These satisfied themselves with the 
stock questions, — ‘‘You fellow, what’s your ’name? 
Where do you come from ? How old are you ? Where 
do you board ? and, What form are you in ? ” — and so 
they passed on through the quadrangle and a small 
courtyard, upon which looked down a lot of little win- 
dows (belonging, as his guide informed him, to some of 
the School-house studies), into the matron’s room, where 
East introduced Tom to that dignitary; made him 'give 
up the key of his trunk that the matron might unpack 
his linen, and told the story of the hat and of his own 
presence of mind : upon the relation whereof the matron 
laughingly scolded him, for the coolest new boy in the 
house ; and East, indignant at the accusation of newness, 
marched Tom off into the quadrangle, and began 
showing him the schools, and examining him as to his 
literary attainments ; the result of which was a prophecy 
that they would be in the same form, and could do their 
lessons together. 

“ And now come in and see my study ; we shall have 
just time before dinner ; and afterwards, before calling 
over, we’ll do the close.” 

Tom followed his guide through the School-house 
hall, which opens into the quadrangle. It is a great 
room thirty feet long and eighteen high, or thereabouts, 
with two great tables running the whole length, and two 
large fireplaces at the side, with blazing fires in thenn 
at one of which some dozen boys were standing and 
lounging, some of whom shouted to East to stop ; but 
he shot through with his convoy, and landed him in the 
long dark passages, with a large fire at the end of each 


92 east’s study and the furnishing thereof. 

upon wliicli the studies opened. Into one of these, in 
the bottom passage, East bolted with our hero, slamming 
and bolting the door behind them, in case of pursuit 
from the hall, and Tom was for the first time in a Rugby 
boy’s citadel. 

He hadn’t been prepared for separate studies, and was 
not a little astonished and delighted with the palace in 
question. 

It wasn’t very large certainly, being about six feet 
long by four broad. It couldn’t be called light, as there 
were bars and a grating to the window ; which little 
precautions were necessary in the studies on the ground 
floor looking out into the close, to prevent the exit of 
small boys after locking-up, and the entrance of contra- 
band articles. But it was uncommonly comfortable to 
look at, Tom thought. The space under the window at 
the further end was occupied by a square table covered 
with a reasonably clean and whole red and blue check 
tablecloth ; a hard-seated sofa covered with red stuff 
occupied one side, running up to the end, and making a 
seat for one, or, by sitting close, for two, at the table ; 
and a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat to another 
boy, so that three could sit and work together. The 
walls were wainscoted half-way up, the wainscot being 
covered with green baize, the remainder with a bright- 
patterned paper, on which hung three or four prints, of 
dogs’ heads, Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury steeple- 
chase, Amy Robsart, the reigning Waverley beauty of 
the day, and Tom Crib in a posture o:' defence, which 
did no credit to the science of that hero, if truly repre- 
sented. Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on 
each side bookcases with cupboards at the bottom; 


“OUR own” and the use thereof. 93 

slielves and. cupboards being filled indiscriminately with 
school-books, a cup or two, a mousetrap, and brass 
candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag, and some 
curious-looking articles, which puzzled Tom not a little, 
until his friend explained that they were climbing 
irons, and showed their use. A cricket-bat and small 
fishing-rod stood up in one corner. 

This was the residence of East and another boy in the 
same form, and had more interest for Tom than Windsor 
Castle, or any other residence in the British Isles. For 
was he not about to become the joint owner of a similar 
home, the first place which he could call his own ? One’s 
own ! What a charm there is in the words ! How long 
it takes boy and man to find out their worth I how fast 
most of us hold on to them ! faster and more jealously 
the nearer we are to that general home into which we 
can take nothing, but must go naked as we came into 
the world. When shall we learn that he who mulfciplieth 
possessions multiplieth troubles, and that the one single 
use of things which we call our own is that they may be 
his who hath need of them ? 

“ And shall I have a study like this too ? ” said Tom. 

“Yes, of course, you’ll be chummed with some fellow 
on Monday, and you can sit here till then.” 

“ What nice places ! ” 

“ They’re well enough,” answered East patronizingly, 
“ only uncommon cold at nights sometimes. Gower — 
that’s my chum — and I make a fire with paper on the 
floor after supper generally, only that makes it so 
smoky.” 

“ But there’s a big fire out in the passage,” - said 
Tom. 


94 


tom’s first rugby dinner. 


“Precious little good we get out of that though/’ said 
East; “Jones the prsepostor has the study at the fire 
end, and he has rigged up an iron rod and green baize 
curtain across the passage, which he draws at night, and 
sits there with liis door open, so he gets all the fire, and 
hears if we come out of our studies after eight, or make 
a noise. However, he’s taken to sitting in the fifth- 
form room lately, so we do get a bit of fire now some- 
times; only to keep a sharp look-out that he don’t 
catch you behind his curtain when he comes down — 
that’s all.” 

A quarter-past one now struck, and the bell began 
tolling for dinner, so they went into the hall and took 
their places, Tom at the verj'” bottom of the second 
table, next to the priepostor (who sat at the end to keep 
order there), and East a few paces higher. And now 
Tom for the first time saw his future schoolfellows in a 
body. In they came, some hot and ruddy from football 
or long walks, some pale and chilly from hard reading 
in their studies, some from loitering over the fire at the 
pastrycook’s, dainty mortals, bringing with them pickles 
and sauce-bottles to help them with their dinners. And 
a great big-bearded man, whom Tom took for a master, 
began calling over the names, while tlie great joints 
were being rapidly carved on a third table in the corner 
by the old verger and the housekeeper. Tom’s turn 
came last, and meanwhile he was all eyes, looking first 
with awe at the great man who sat close to him, and 
was helped first, and who read a hard-looking book all 
the time he was eating; and when he got up and walked 
off to the fire, at the small boys round him, some of 
whom were reading, and the rest talking in whispers to 


EAST ENLIGHTENS TOM. 


95 


one another, or stealing one another’s bread, or shooting 
pellets, or digging their forks through the tablecloth 
However, notwithstanding his curiosity, he njanaged to 
make a capital dinner by the time the big man called 
“ Stand up ! ” and said grace. 

As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been 
questioned by such of his neighbours as were curious as 
to his birth, parentage, education, and other like matters. 
East, who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of patron 
and Mentor, proposed having a look at the close, which 
Tom, athirst for knowledge, gladly assented to, and 
they went out through the quadrangle and past the big 
fives’- court, into the great playground. 

“ That’s the chapel, you see,” said East, “ and there 
just behind it is the place for fights ; you see it’s most 
out of the way of the masters, who all live on the other 
side and don’t come by here after first lesson or callings- 
over. That’s when the fights come off. And all this 
part where we are is the little side-ground, right up to 
the trees, and on the other side of the trees is the big 
side-ground, where the great matches are played. And 
there’s the island in the furthest corner ; you’ll know 
that well enough next half, when there’s island fagging. 
I say, it’s horrid cold, let’s have a run across,” and 
away went East, Tom close behind him. East was 
evidently putting his best foot foremoot, and Tom, who 
was mighty proud of his running, and not a little anxious 
to show his friend that although a new boy he was no 
milksop, laid himself down to the work in his very best 
style. Eight across the close they went, each doing all 
he knew, and there wasn’t a yard between them when 
they pulled up at the island moat. 


9G WHITE TKOUSEKS IN NOVEMBEE. 

say,” said East, as soon as he got his wind, 
looking with much increased respect at Tom, ** you 
ain’t a bad scud, not by no means. Well, I’m as warm 
as a toast now.” 

“ But why do you wear white trousers in November ? ” 
said Tom. He had been struck by this peculiarity in 
the costume of almost all the School-house boys. 

“ Why, bless us, don’t you know ? — No, I forgot. 
Why, to-day’s the School-house match. Our house 
plays the whole of the School at football. And we all 
wear white trousers, to show ’em we don’t care for hacks. 
You’re in luck to come to-day. You just will see a 
match ; and Brooke’s going to let me play in quarters. 
That’s more than he’ll do for any other lower-school boy, 
except James, and he’s fourteen.” 

“Who’s Brooke?” 

“ Why that big fellow who called over at dinner, to 
be sure. He’s cock of the school, and head of the 
School-house side, and the best kick ^nd charger in 
Eugby.” 

“ Oh, but do show me where they play ? And tell me 
about it. I love football so, and have played all my 
life. Won’t Brooke let me play ? ” 

“Not he,” said East, with some indignation; "why, 
you don’t know the rules — you’ll be a month learning 
them. And then it’s no joke playing-up in a match, I 
can tell you. Quite another thing from your private 
school games. Why, there’s been two collar-bones 
broken this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And last 
year a fellow had his leg broken.” 

Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this 
chapter of accidents, and followed East across the level 


EAST DISCOURSETH ON FOOTBALL. 


97 


ground till they came to a sort of gigantic gallows of two 
poles eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the ground 
some fourteen feet apart, with a cross bar running from 
one to the other at the height of ten feet or thereabouts. 

“This is one of the goals,” said East, “and you see 
the other across there, right opposite, under the Doctor’s 
wall. Well, the match is for the best of three goals ; 
whichever side kicks two goals wins : and it won’t do, 
you see, just to kick the ball through these posts, it must 
go over the cross bar ; any height’ll do, so long as it’s 
between the posts. You’ll have to stay in goal to touch 
the ball when it rolls behind the posts, because if the 
other side touch it they have a try at goal. Then we 
fellows in quarters, we play just about in front of goal 
here, and have to turn the ball and kick it back before 
the big fellows on the other side can follow it up. And 
in front of us all the big fellows play, and that’s where 
the scrummages are mostly.” 

Tom’s respect increased as he struggled to make out 
his friend’s technicalities, and the other set to work to 
explain the mysteries of “ off your side,” “ drop-kicks,” 
“ punts,” “ places,” and the other intricacies of the great 
science of football. 

“ But how do you keep the ball between the goals ? ” 
said he. “ I can’t see why it mightn’t go right down to 
the chapel.” 

“Why, that’s out of play," answeied East. “You 
see this gravel walk running down all along this side of 
the playing-ground, and the line of elms opposite on the 
other? Well, they’re the bounds. As soon as the ball 
gets past them, it’s in touch, and out of play. And 
then whoever first touches it, has to knock it straight 


98 


THE PUNT ABOUT. 


out amongst the players-up, who make two lines with a 
space between them, every fellow going on his own side. 
Ain’t there just fine scrummages then ! and the three 
trees you see there which come out into the play, that’s 
a tremendous place when the ball hangs there, for you 
get thrown against the trees, and that’s worse than any 
hack.” 

Tom wondered within himself as they strolled back 
again towards the fives’ court, whether the matches were 
really such break-neck affairs as East represented, and 
whether, if they were, he should ever get to like them 
and play-up well. 

He hadn’t long to wonder, however, for next minute 
East cried out, “ Hurra ! here’s the punt-about, — come 
along and try your hand at a kick.” The punt-about 
is the practice ball, which is just brought out and 
kicked about anyhow from one boy to another before 
callings over and dinner, and at other odd times. They 
joined the boys who had brought it out, all small School- 
house fellows, friends of East ; and Tom had the pleasure 
of trying his skill, and performed very creditably, after 
first driving his foot three inches into the ground, and 
then nearly kicking his leg into the air, in vigorous 
efforts to accomplish a drop-kick after the manner of 
East. 

Presently more boys and bigger came out, and boys 
from other houses on their way to calling-over, and 
more balls were sent for. The crowd thickened as 
three o’clock approached; and when the hour struck, 
one hundred and fifty boys were hard at work. Then 
the balls were held, the master of the week came down 
in cap and gown to calling-over, and the whole school 


CALLING OVER. 


99 


of three hundred hoys swept into the big school to 
answer to their names. 

"I may come in, mayn’t I?” said Tom, catching 
East by the arm and longing to feel one of them. 

“Yes, come along, nobod}^’!! say anything. You 
won’t be so eager to get into calling-over after a month,” 
replied his friend ; and they marched into the big school 
together, and up to the further end, where that illustrious 
form, the lower fourth, which had the honour of East’s 
patronage for the time being, stood. 

The master mounted into the high desk by the door, 
and one of the praepostors of the week stood by him 
on the steps, the other three marching up and down 
the middle of the school with their canes, calling out 
“Silence, silence!” The sixth form stood close by 
the door on the left, some thirty in number, mostly 
great big grown men, as Tom thought, surveying them 
from a distance with awe. The fifth form behind them, 
twice their number and not quite so big. These on the 
left ; and on the right the lower fifth, shell, and all the 
junior forms in order; while up the middle marched the 
three praepostors. 

Then the praepostor who stands by the master calls 
out the names, beginning "with the sixth form, and as 
he calls, each boy answers “ Here ” to his name, and 
walks out. Some of the sixth stop at the door to turn 
the whole string of boys into the close ; it is a great 
match day, and every boy in the school, will-he, nill- 
he, must be there. The rest of the sixth go forwards 
into the close, to see that no one escapes by any of the 
side gates. 

To-day, however, being ' the School-house match, 

H 2 


100 


"THEY TRUST TO OUR HONOUR. 


none of the School-liouse pra3postors stay by the door 
to watch for truants of their side ; there is carte blanche 
to the School-house fags to go where they iike : “ They 
trust to our honour,” as East proudly informs Tom ; 
“ they know very well that no School-house boy would 
cut the match. If he did, we’d very soon cut him, I 
can tell you.” 

The master of the week being short-sighted, and the 
prsepostors of the week small and not well up to their 
work, the lower school boys employ the ten minutes 
which elapse before their names are called, in' pelting 
one another vigorously with acorns, which fly about in 
all directions. The small praepostors dash in every now 
and then, and generally chastise some quiet, timid boy 
who is equally afraid of acorns and canes, while the 
principal performers get dexterously out of the way j 
and so calling-over rolls on somehow, much like the big 
world, punishments lighting on wrong shoulders, and 
matters going generally in a queer, cross-grained "way, 
but the end coming somehow, which is after all the 
great point. And now the master of the week has 
finished, and locked up the big school ; and the prse- 
postors of the week come out, sweeping the last remnant 
of the school fags — who had been loafing about the 
corners by the fives’ court, in hopes of a chance of 
bolting — before them into the close. 

Hold the punt-about ! ” “ To the goals ! ” are the 
cries, and all stray balls are impounded by the autho- 
rities ; and the whole mass of boys moves up towards 
the two goals, dividing as they go into three bodies. 
That little band on the left, consisting of from fifteen to 
twenty boys, Tom amongst them, who are making for 


MARSHALLING FOR FOOTBALL. 101 

the goal under the School-house wall, are the School- 
house hoys who are not to play-up, and have to stay in 
goal. The larger body moving to the island goal, are 
the school-boys in a like predicament. The great mass 
in the middle are the players-up, both sides mingled 
together; they are hanging their jackets, and, all who 
mean real work, their hats, waistcoats, neck-hand- 
kerchiefs, and braces, on the railings round the small 
trees ; and there they go by twos and threes up to their 
respective grounds. There is none of the colour and 
tastiness of get-up, you will perceive, which lends such 
a life to the present game at Eugby, making the dullest 
and worst-fought match a pretty sight. Now each 
house has its own uniform of cap and jersey, of some 
lively colour : but at the time we are speaking of, plush 
caps have not yet come in or uniforms of any sort, 
except the School-house white trousers, which are abo- 
minably cold to-day : let us get to work, bare-headed 
and girded with our plain leather straps — but we mean 
business, gentlemen. 

And now that the two sides have fairly sundered, 
and each occupies its own ground, and we get a good 
look at them,what absurdity is this ? You don’t mean 
to say that those fifty or sixty boys in white trousers, 
many of them quite small, are going to play that huge 
mass opposite ? Indeed I do, gentlemen ; they’re going 
to try at any rate, and won’t make such a bad fight of 
it either, mark my word ; for hasn’t old Brooke won 
the toss, with his lucky halfpenny, and got choice of 
goals and kick-off? The new ball you may see lie 
there quite by itself, in the middle, pointing towards the 
school or island goal ; in another minute it will be well 


102 , OLD BROOKE’S OEi^EhALSHIP. 

on its way there. Use that minute in remarking how 
the School-house side is drilled. You will see in the 
first place, that the sixth-form boy, wdio has the charge 
of goal, has spread his force (the goal-keepers) so as to 
occupy the whole space behind the goal-posts, at dis- 
tances of about five yards apart ; a safe and well-kept 
goal is the foundation of all good play. Old Brooke is 
talking to the captain of quarters ; and now he moves 
away ; see how that youngster spreads his men (the light 
brigade) carefully over the ground, half-way between 
their own goal and the body of their own players-up 
(the heavy brigade). These again play in several bodies ; 
there is young Brooke and the bull-dogs — mark them 
well — they are the “fighting brigade,” the “ die-hards,” 
larking about at leap-frog to keep themselves warm, and 
playing tricks on one another. And on each side of old 
Brooke, who is now standing in the middle of the ground 
and just going to kick off, you see a separate wing of 
players-up, each with a boy of acknowledged prowess 
to look to — here Warner, and there Hedge ; but overall 
is old Brooke, absolute as he of Eussia, but wisely and 
bravely ruling over willing and worshipping subjects, a 
true football king. His face is earnest and careful as 
he glances a last time over his array, but full of pluck 
and hope, the sort of look I hope to see in my general 
when I go out to fight. 

The School side is not organized in the same way. 
The goal-keepers are all in lumps, anyhow and nohow ; 
you can’t distinguish between the players-up and the 
boys in quarters, and there is divided leadership ; but 
with such odds in strength and weight it must take more 
than that to hinder them from winning ; and so their 


A SCRUMMAGE. 103 

leaders seem to for they let the players-up manage 
themselves. 

Bub now look, there is a slight move forward of the 
School-house wings ; a shout of " Are you ready ? ” and 
loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takes half-a-dozen 
quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning towards 
the School goal ; seventy yards before it touches ground, 
and at no point above twelve or fifteen feet high, a model 
kick-offi; and the School-house cheer and rush on; 
the ball is returned, an .1 they meet it and drive it 
back amongst the masses of the School already in motion 
Then the two sides close, and you can see nothing for 
minutes but a swaying crowd of boys, at one point 
violently agitated. That is where the ball is, and there 
are the keen players to be met, and the glory and the 
hard knocks to be got : you hear the dull thud thud of 
the ball, and the shouts of “Off your side,” “Down 
with him,” “ Put him over,” “ Bravo !” This is what we 
call a scrummage, gentlemen, and the first scrummage 
in a School-house match was no joke in the consulship 
of Plancus. 

But see ! it has broken ; the ball is driven out on the 
School-house side, and a rush of the School carries it 
past the School-house playcrs-up. “ Look out ii;i quar- 
ters,” Brooke’s and twenty other voices ring out ; no need 
to call though, the School-house captain of quarters has 
caught it on the bound, dodges the foremost school- 
boys, who are heading the rush, and sends it back with 
a good drop-kick v/ell into the enemy’s country. And 
then follows rush upon rush, and scrummage upon 
scrummage, the ball now driven through into the School- 
Louse quarters, and now into the School goal; for the 


104 


HOW TO GO IN. 


School-house have not lost the advantage which the 
kick-off and a slight wind gave them at the outset, and 
are slightly “penning” their adversaries. You say 
you don’t see much in it all ; nothing but a struggling 
mass of boys, and a leather ball, which seems to excite 
them all to great fury, as a red rag does a bull. My 
dear sir, a battle would look much the same to you, 
except that the boys would be men, and the balls iron ; 
but a battle would be worth your looking at for all that, 
and so is a football match. You can’t be expected to 
appreciate the delicate strokes of play, the turns by 
which a game is lost and won, — it takes an old player 
to do that, but the broad philosophy of football you can 
understand if you will. Come along with me a little 
nearer, and let us consider it together. 

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides 
are thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a scrum- 
mage ; it must be driven through now by force or skill, 
till it flies out on one side or the other. Look how 
differently the boys face it ! Here come two of the bull- 
dogs, bursting through the outsiders ; in they go, straight 
to the heart of the scrummage, bent on driving that 
ball out on the opposite side. That is what they mean 
to do. . My sons, my sons ! you are too hot ; you have 
gone past the ball, and must struggle now right through 
the scrummage, and get round and back again to your 
own side, before you can be of any further use. Here 
comes young Brooke; he goes in as straight as you, 
but keeps his head, and backs and bends, holding 
himself still behind the ball, and driving it furiously 
when he gets the chance. Take a leaf out of his book, 
you young chargers. Here come Speedicut, and Flash- 


THE FIRST CHECK. 


105 


man tlie School-house bully, with shouts and great 
action. Won’t you two come up to young Brooke, after 
locking up, by the School-house fire, with “ Old fellow, 
wasn’t that just a splendid scrummage by the three 
trees !” But he knows you, and so do we. You don’t 
really want to drive that ball through that scrummage, 
chancing all hurt for the glory of the School-house — 
but to make us think that’s what you want — a vastly 
different thing ; and fellows of your kidney will never 
go through more than the skirts of a scrummage, where 
it’s all push and no kicking. We respect boys who keep 
out of it, and don’t sham going in ; but you — we^had 
rather not say what we think of you. 

Then the boys who are bending and watching on the 
outside, mark them — they are most useful players, the 
dodgers ; who seize on the ball the moment it rolls out 
from amongst the chargers, and away with it across to 
the opposite goal ; they seldom go into the scrummage, 
but must have more coolness than the chargers : as end- 
less as are boys’ characters, so are their ways of facing 
or not facing a scrummage at football. 

Three-quarters of an hour are gone ; first winds are 
failing, and weight and numbers beginning to tell. Y'ard 
by yard the School-house have been driven back, con- 
testing every inch of ground. The bull- dogs are the 
colour of mother earth from shoulder to ankle, except 
young Brooke, who has a marvellous knack of keeping 
his legs. The Sclfbol-house are being penned in, their 
turp, and now the ball is behind their goal, under the 
Doctor’s wall. The Doctor and some of his family are 
there looking on, and seem as anxious as any boy for 
the success of the School-house. We get a minute’s 


106 


YOUNG BEOOKE's RUSH. 


breatliin" time before old Broobe kicks out, and lie gives 
the word to play strongly for touch, by the three trees. 
Away goes the ball, and the bull-dogs after it, and in 
another minute there is a shout of In touch,” “ Our 
ball.” Now’s your time, old Brooke, while your men are 
still fresh. He stands with the ball in his hand, while 
the two sides form in deep lines opposite one another: 
he must strike it straight out between them. The lines 
are thickest close to him, but young Brooke and two or 
three of his men are shifting up further, where the 
opposite line is weak. Old Brooke strikes it out straight 
and strong, and it falls opposite his brother. Hurra! 
that rush has taken it right through the School line, 
and away past the three trees, far into their quarters, 
and young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close upon it. 
The School leaders rush back shouting Look out in 
goal,” and strain every nerve to catch him, but they are 
after the fleetest foot in Eugby. There they go straight 
for the School goal-posts, quarters scattering before them. 
One after another the bull-dogs go down, but young 
Brooke holds on. He is down.” No ! a long stagger, 
and the danger is past; that was the shock of Crew, 
the most dangerous of dodgers. And now he is close to 
the School goal, the ball not three yards before him. 
There is a hurried rush of the School fags to the spot, 
but no one throws himself on the ball, the only chance, 
and young Brooke has touched it right under the 
School goal-posts. 

The School leaders come up furious, and administer 
toco to the wretched fags nearest at hand : they may 
well be angry, for it is all Lombard-street to a china 
orange that the School-house kick a goal with the ball 


A goal! 


107 


touched in such a good place. Old* Brooke of course 
will kick it out, but who shall catch and place it ? Call 
Crab Jones. Here he conies, sauntering along with a 
straw ill his mouth, the queerest, coolest lish in Eugby : 
if he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would 
just pick himself up without taking his hands out of his 
pockets or turning a hair. But it is a moment when 
the boldest charger’s heart heats quick. (31d Brooke 
stands with the ball under his ar^n motioning the School 
back ; he will not kick-out till they are all in goal, 
behind the posts ; they are all edging forwards, inch by 
inch, to get nearer for the rush at Crab Jones, who 
stands there in front of old Brooke to catch the ball. If 
they can reach and destroy him before he catches, the 
danger is over ; and with one and the same rush they 
will carry it right away to the School-house goal. Fond 
hope ! it is kicked out and caught beautifully. Crab 
strikes his heel into the ground, to mark the spot where 
the ball was caught, beyond which the School line may 
not advance ; but there they stand, five deep, ready to 
rush the moment the ball touches the ground. Take 
plenty of room ! don’t give the rush a chance of reaching 
you ! place it true and steady ! Trust Crab Jones — he 
has made a small hole with his heel for the ball to lie on, 
by which he is resting on one knee, with his eye on old 
Brooke. “ FTow ! ” Crab places the ball at the word, 
old Brooke kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the 
School rush forward. 

Then a moment’s pause, while both sides look up at 
the spinning ball. There it flies, straight between the 
two posts, some five feet above the cross-bar, an unques- , 
tioned goal ; and a shout of real genuine joy rings out 


108 


GRIFFITH’S BASKETS. 


from the School- house players-up, and a faint echo of it 
comes over the close from the goal-keepers under the 
Doctor’s wall. A goal in the first hour — such a thing 
hasn’t been done in the School-house match this five years. 

" Over ! ” is the cry : the two sides change goals, and 
the School-house goal-keepers come threading their way 
across through the masses of the School ; the most 
openly triumphant of them, amongst whom is Tom, a 
School-house boy of two hours’ standing, getting their 
ears boxed in the transit. Tom indeed is excited beyond 
measure, and it is all the sixth-form boy, kindest 
and safest of goal-keepers, has been able to do, to keep 
him from rushing out whenever the ball has been near 
their goal. So he holds him by his side, and instructs 
him in the science of touching. 

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vendor of 
oranges from Hill Morton, enters the close with his 
heavy baskets ; there is a rush of small boys upon the 
little pale-faced man, the two sides mingling together, 
subdued by the great Goddess Thirst, like the English 
and French by the streams in the Pyrenees. The 
leaders are past oranges and apples, but some of them 
visit their coats, and apply innocent looking ginger-beer 
bottles to their mouths. It is no ginger-beer though, 
I fear, and will do you no good. One short mad rush, 
and then a stitch in the side, and no more honest play ; 
that’s what comes of those bottles. 

But now Griffith’s baskets are empty, the ball is 
placed again midway, and the School are going to kick 
otf. Their leaders have sent their lumber into goal, 
and rated ti e rest soundly, and one hundred and twenty 
picked players-up are there, bent on retrieving the game. 


109 


“ AKE YOU KEADY ? ” 

Thsy are to keep the ball in front of the School-house 
goal, and then to drive it in by sheer strength and weight. 
They mean heavy play and no mistake, and so old Brooke 
sees ; and places Crab Jones in quarters just before the 
goal, with four or five picked players, who are to keep 
the ball away to the sides, where a try at goal, if'obtained, 
will be less dangerous than in front. He himself, and 
Warner and Hedge, who have saved themselves till now, 
will lead the charges. 

“Are you ready ? ” “ Yes.” And away comes the 

ball kicked high in the air, to give the School time to 
rush on and catch it as it falls. And here they are 
amongst us. Meet them like Englishmen, you School- 
house boys, and charge them home. How is the time 
to show what mettle is in you — and there shall be a 
warm seat by the hall fire, and honour, and lots of bottled 
beer to-night, for him who does his duty in the next 
half-hour. And they are well met. Again and again 
the cloud of their players-up gathers before our goal, and 
comes threatening on, and Warner or Hedge, with young 
Brooke and the relics of the bull-dogs, break through 
and carry the ball back; and old Brooke ranges the 
field like Job’s war-horse, the thickest scrummage parts 
asunder before his rush, like the waves before a clipper’s 
bows ; his cheery voice rings over the field, and his eye 
is everywhere. And if these miss the ball, and it rolls 
dangerously in front of our goal. Crab Jones and his 
men have seized it and sent it away towards the sides 
with the unerring drop-kick. This is worth living for ; 
the whole sum of school-boy existence gathered up into 
one straining, struggling half-hour, a half-hour worth a 
year of common life. 


110 


east’s charge. 


The quarter to five has struck, and the play slackens 
for a minute before goal ; but there is Crew, the artful 
dodger, driving the ball in behind our goal, on the 
island side, where our quarters are weakest. Is there 
no one to meet him ? Yes ! look at little East! the ball 
is just at equal distances between the two, and they 
rush together, the young man of seventeen and the boy 
of twelve, and kick it at the same moment. Crew 
passes on without a stagger ; East is hurled forward by 
the shock, and plunges on his shoulders, as if he would 
bury himself in the ground; but the ball rises straight 
into the air, and falls behind Crew’s back, while the 
“ bravos ” of the School-house attest the pluckiest charge 
of all that hard-fought day. Warner picks East up 
lame and half stunned, and he hobbles back into goal 
conscious of having played the man. 

And now the last minutes are come, and the School 
gather for their last rush every boy of the hundred and 
twenty who has a run left in him. Reckless of the 
defence of their own goal, on they come across the level 
big-side ground, the ball well down amongst them 
straight for our goal, like the column of the Old Guard 
up the slope at Waterloo. All former charges have been 
child’s play to this. Warner and Hedge have met them, 
but still on they come. The bull-dogs rush in for the 
last time ; they are hurled over or carried back, striving- 
hand, foot, and eyelids. Old Brooke comes sweeping 
round the skirts of the play, and, turning short round, 
picks out the very heart of the scruifflaage, and plunges 
in. It wavers for a moment — he has the ball! No, it 
has passed him, and his voice rings out clear over the 
advancing tide “ Look out in goah” Crab Jones catches 


tom’s first exploit. 


in 


it for a moment ; but before he can kick, the rush is 
upon him and passes over him ; and he picks himself 
up behind them with his straw in his mouth, a little 
dirtier, but as cool as ever. 

The ball rolls slowly in behind the School-house goal 
not three yards in front of a dozen of the biggest School 
players-up. 

There stand the School-house praepostor, safest of 
goal-keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who has 
learned his trade by this time. Now is your time, Tom. 
The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rush in 
together, and throw themselves on the ball, under the 
very feet of the advancing column; the praepostor on 
his hands and knees arching his back, and Tom all 
along on his face. Over them topple the leaders of the 
rush, shooting t)ver the back of the praepostor, but 
falling flat on Tom, and knocking all the wind out of his 
small carcase. “Our ball,” says the praepostor, rising 
with his prize ; “ but get up there, there’s a little fellow 
under you.” They are hauled and roll off him, and 
Tom is discovered a motionless body. 

Old Brooke picks him up. “ Stand back, give him 
air,” he says ; and then feeling his limbs, adds, “ No 
bones broken. How do you feel, young un ? ” 

“ TIah-hah,” gasps Tom as his wind comes back, 
“ pretty well, thank you — all right.” 

“ Who is he ? ” says Brooke. “ Oh, it’s Brown ; he’s a 
new boy ; I know||^im,” says East, coming up. 

“Well, he is a plucky youngster, and will make a 
player,” says Brooke. 

And five o’clock strikes. “No side” is called, and 
the first day of the School-house match is over. 


112 


AFTER THE MATCH. 


CHAPTEK YI. 

AFTER THE MATCH. 

Some food we had.”—ShaJcspert. 

rig iroTdff aivg. — ThEOCU. Id. 

S the boys scattered 
away from the 
ground, and East 
leaning on Tom's 
arm, and limping 
along, was begin- 
ning to consider 
what luxury they 
should go and buy 
for tea to cele- 
brate that glorious 
victory, the two 
Brookes came strid- 
ing by. Old Brooke 
caught sight of 
East, and stopped ; 
put his hand kind- 
ly on his shoulder 
and said, “ Bravo, youngster, you played famously ; not 
much the matter, I hope ? ” 

"No, nothing at all,” said East, "oniy a little twist 
from that charge.” 



CELEBRATING THE VICTORY. 


113 


Well, mind and "et all right for next Saturday ; ** 
and the leader passed on, leaving East better for those 
few words than all the opodeldoc in England would 
have made him, and Tom ready to give one of his ears 
for as much notice. Ah ! light words of those whom 
we love and honour, what a power ye are, and how 
carelessly wielded by those who can use you! Surely 
for these things also God will ask an account* 

“ Tea’s directly after locking-up, you see,” said 
East, hobbling along as fast as he could, ‘‘so you come 
along down to Sally Harrowell’s ; that’s our school- 
house tuck-shop — she bakes such stunning murphies, 
we’ll have a penn’orth each for tea; come along, or 
they’ll all be gone.” 

Tom’s new purse and money burnt in his pocket ; he 
wondered, as they toddled through the quadrangle and 
along the street, . whether East would be insulted if he 
suggested further extravagance, as he had not sufficient 
faith in a pennyworth of potatoes. At last he blurted 
out, — 

“I say, East, can’t we get something else besides 
potatoes ? I’ve got lots of money, you know.” 

“ Bless us, yes, I forgot,” said East, “ you’ve only 
just come. You see all my tin’s been gone this twelve 
weeks, it hardly ever lasts beyond the first fortnight ; 
and our allowances were all stopped this morning for 
broken windows, so I haven’t got a penny. I’ve got a 
tick at Sally’s, of course ; but then I hate running it 
high, you see, towards the end of the half, ‘cause one 
has to shell out for it all directly one comes back, and 
that’s a bore.” 

Tom didn’t understand much of this talk, but seized 

I 


114 


harrowell’s. 


on the fact that East had no money, and was deny- 
ing himself some little pet luxury in consequence. 

Well, what shall I buy?” said he ; “ Fm uncommon 
hungry.” 

“ I say,” said East, stopping to look at him and rest 
his leg, “you’re a trump, Brown. Fll do the same by 
you next half. Let’s have a pound of sausages, then ; 
that’s the best grub for tea I know of.” 

“Very well,” said Tom, as pleased as possible; 
“ where do they sell them ? ” 

“Oh, over here, just opposite;” and they crossed 
the street and walked into the cleanest little front room 
of a small house, half parlour, half shop, and bought 
a pound of most particular sausages; East talking 
pleasrntly to Mrs. Porter while she put them in paper, 
and Tom doing the paying part. 

From Porter’s they adjourned to Sally HaiTowell’s, 
where they found a lot of School-house boys waiting 
for the roast potatoes, and relating their own exploits 
in the day’s match at the top of their voices. The 
street opened at once into Sally’s kitchen, a low, brick- 
floored room, with large recess for fire, and chimney- 
corner seats. Poor little Sally, the most good-natured 
and much enduring of womankind, was bustling about 
with a napkin in her hand, from her owm oven to those 
of the neighbours’ cottages, up the yard at the back 
of the house. Stumps, her husband, a short, easy-going 
shoemaker, with a beery humorous eye and ponderous 
calves, who lived mostly on his wife’s earnings, stood in 
a corner of the room, exchanging shots of the roughest 
description of repartee with every boy in turn. “Stumps, 
you lout, you’ve had too much beer again to-day.” 


TEA AND ITS LUXURIES. 


115 


“ Twasn’fc of your paying for, then.” — Stumps’s calves 
are running down into his ankles, they want to get to 
grass.” Better be doing that, than gone altogether 
like yours,” &c. &c. Very poor stuff it was, but it 
served to make time pass ; and every now and then 
Sally arrived in the middle with a smoking tin of pota- 
toes, which were cleared off in a few seconds, each boy 
as he seized his lot running oft to the house with Put 
me down two-penn’orth, Sally;” “Put down three- 
penn’orth between me and Davis,” &c. How she ever 
kept the accounts so straight as she did, in her head 
and on her slate, was a perfect wonder. 

East and Tom got served at last, and started back 
for the School-house just as the lockiug-up bell began 
to ring ; East on the way recounting the life and 
adventures of Stumps, who was a character. Amongst 
his other small avocations, he was the hind carrier of a 
sedan-chair, the last of its race, in which the Eugby 
ladies still went out to tea, and in which, when he was 
fairly harnessed and carrying a load, it was the delight 
of small and mischievous boys to follow him and whip 
his calves. This was too much for the temper even of 
Stumps, and he would pursue his tormentors in a vin- 
dictive and apoplectic manner when released, but was 
easily pacified by twopence to buy beer with. 

The lower school-boys of the School-house, some 
fifteen in number, had tea in the lower-fifth school, and 
were presided over by the old verger or head-porter. 
Each boy had a quarter of a loaf of bread and pat of 
butter, and as much tea as he pleased ; and there was 
scarcely one who didn’t add to this some further luxury, 
such as baked potatoes, a herring, sprats, or something 


116 


SINGING. 


of the sort; but few, at this period of the half-year, 
could live up to a pound of Porter’s sausages, and East 
was in great magnificence upon the strength of theirs. 
He had produced a toasting-fork from his study, and 
set Tom to toast the sausages, while he mounted guard 
over their butter and potatoes ; “ ’cause,” as he ex- 
plained, “ you’re a new boy, and they’ll play you some 
trick and get our butter, but you can toast just as well 
as I.” So Tom, in the midst of three or four more 
urchins similarly employed, toasted his face and the 
sausages at the same time before the huge fire, till the 
latter cracked ; when East from his watch-tower shouted 
that they were done ; and then the feast proceeded, and 
the festive cups of tea were filled and emptied, and Tom 
imparted of the sausages in small bits to many neigh- 
bours, and thought he had never tasted such good 
potatoes or seen such jolly boys. They on their parts 
waived all ceremony, and pegged away at the sausages 
and potatoes, and, remembering Tom’s performance in 
goal, voted East’s new crony a brick. After tea, and 
while the things were being cleared away, they gathered 
round the fire, and the talk on the match still went 
on ; and those who had them to show, pulled up their 
trousers and showed the hacks they had received in the 
good cause. 

They were soon however all turned out of the school, 
and East conducted Tom up to his bedroom, that he 
might get on clean things and wash himself before 
singing. 

“What’s singing?” said Tom, taking his head out 
of his basin, where he had been plunging it in cold 
water 


SUPPER. 


117 


"Well, yon arc jolly green,” answered his friend 
from a neighbouring basin. Why, the last six; Satur- 
days of every half, we sing of course ; and this is the 
first of them. No first lesson to do, you know, and lie 
in bed to-morrow morning.” 

"But who sings?” 

" Why everybody, of course ; you’ll see soon enough. 
We begin directly afte r supper, and sing till bed-time. 
It ain’t such good fun now though as in the summer 
half, ’cause then we sing in the little fives’ court, under 
the library, you know. We take our tables, and the big 
boys sib round, and drink beer; double allowance on 
Saturday nights ; and we cut about the quadrangle 
between the songs, and it looks like a lot of robbers in 
a cave. And the louts come and pound at the great 
gates, and we pound back again, and shout at them. 
But this half we only sing in the hall. Come along 
down to my study.” 

Their principal employment in the study was to clear 
out East’s table, removing the drawers and ornaments 
and tablecloth ; for he lived in the bottom passage, and 
bis table was in requisition for the singing. 

Supper came in due course at seven o’clock, consist- 
ing of bread and cheese and beer, which was all saved 
for the singing ; and directly afterwards the fags went 
to work to prepare the halL The School-house hall, 
as has been said, is a great long high room, with two 
large fires on one side, and two large iron-bound tables, 
one running down the middle, and the other along the 
wall opposite the fire-places. Around the upper fire 
the fags placed the tables in the form of a horse-shoe, 
and upon them the jugs with the Saturday night’s allow- 


118 


tom’s perfokmances. 


ance of Leer. Then the big boys used to drop in and 
take their seats, bringing with them bottled beer and 
song-books ; for although they all knew the songs by 
heart, it was the thing to have an old manuscript book 
descended from some departed hero, in which they were 
all carefully written out. 

The sixth-form boys had not yet appeared ; so, to fill 
up the gap, an interesting and time-honoured ceremony 
was gone through. Each new boy was placed on the 
table in turn, and made to sing a solo, under the 
penalty of drinking a large mug of salt and water if he 
resisted or broke down. However, the new boys all 
sing like nightingales to-night, and the salt water is 
not in requisition; Tom, as his part, performing the 
old west-country song of “The Leather Bott^l” with 
considerable applause. And at the half-hour down 
come the sixth and fifth form boys, and take their 
places at the tables, which are filled up by the next 
biggest boys, the rest, for whom there is no room at 
the table, standing round outside. 

The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugle- 
man strikes up the old sea song — 

** A wet sheet and a flowing sea. 

And a wind that follows fast,” fee. 

which is the invariable first song in the School-house, 
and all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of 
harmony, but bent on noise, which they attain de- 
cidedly ; but the general effect isn’t bad. And then 
follow the British Grenadiers,” “ Billy Taylor,” 
“The Siege of Seringapatam, ” “ Three Jolly Postboys,” 
and other vociferous songs in rapid succession, including 
the “Chesapeake and Shannon,” a song lately intro- 


Brooke’s honours. 119 

duced in lionour of old Brooke ; and wken they come 
to the words — 

** Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now my lads, aboard. 

And we’ll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy oh I” 

you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and 
fifth know that “ brave Broke ” of the Shannon was no 
sort of relation to our old Brooke. The fourth-form 
are uncertain in their belief, but for the most part 
hold that old Brooke was a midshipman then on hoard 
his uncle’s ship. And the lower school never doubt 
for a moment that it was our old Brooke who led the 
boarders, in what capacity they care not a straw. 
During the pauses the bottled-beer corks fly rapidly, 
and the talk is fast and merry, and the big boys, at 
least all of them who have a fellow-feeling for dry 
throats, hand their mugs over their shoulders to be 
emptied by the small ones who stand round behind. 

Then Warner, .the head of the house, gets up and 
wants to speak, but he can’t, for every boy knows 
what’s coming ; and the big boys who sit at tlie tables 
pound them and cheer; and the small boys who stand 
behind pound one another, and cheer, and rush about 
the hall cheering. Then silence being made, Warner 
reminds them of the old School-house custom of drink- 
ing the healths, on the first night of singing, of those 
who are going to leave at the end of the half. He 
sees that they know what he is going to say already — 
(loud cheers) — and so won’t keep them, hut only ask 
them to treat the toast as it deserves. It is the head 
of the eleven, the head of big-side football, their 
leader on this glorious day — Pater Brooke ! ” 

And away goes the pounding and cheering again. 


120 


BROOKE DISCOURSETH 


becoming deafening when old Brooke gets on his legs : 
till, a table having broken down, and a gallon or so of 
beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, silence 
ensues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the 
table, and bending a little forwards. No action, no 
tricks of oratory; plain, strong, and straight, like his 
play.^ 

“ Gentlemen of the School-house ! I am very proud 
of the way in which you have received my name, and 
I wish I could say all I should like in return. But I 
know I shan’t. However, I’ll do the best I can to say 
what seems to me ought to be said by a fellow who’s 
just going to leave, and who has spent a good slice of 
his life here. Eight years it is, and eight such years 
as I can never hope to have again. So now I hope 
you’ll all listen to me — (loud cheers of ‘that we will’) — 
for I’m going to talk seriously. You’re bound to listen 
to me; fcr what’s the use of calling me 'pater,’ and all 
that, if you don’t mind what I say? And I’m going 
to talk seriously, because I feel so. It’s a jolly time, 
too, getting to the end of the half, and a goal kicked 
by us first day — (tremendous applause) — after one of 
the hardest and fiercest da^^’s play I can remember in 
eight years — (frantic shoutings). The school played 
splendidly, too, I will say, and kept it up to the last. 
That last charge of theirs would have carried away a 
house. I never thought to see anything again of old 
Crab there, except little pieces, when I saw him tumbled 
over by it — (laughter and shouting, and great slapping 
on the back of Jones by the boys nearest him). Well, 
but we beat ’em — (cheers). Aye, but why did we 
beat ’em ? answer me that — (shouts of ‘ your play.’) 


ON UNION, AND AGAINST BULLYING. 


121 


iNonsense ! ’T wasn’t the wind and kick-off either — 
that wouldn’t do it. ’T wasn’t because we’ve half-a- 
dozen of the best players in the school, as we have. I 
wouldn’t change Warner, and Hedge, and Crab, and 
the young un, for any six on their side— (violent 
cheers.) But half-a-dozen fellows can’t keep it up for 
two hours against two hundred. Why is it, then ? I’ll 
tell you what I think. It’s because we’ve more reliance 
on one another, more of a house feeling, more fellowship 
than the school can have. Each of us knows and can 
depend on his next hand man better — that’s why we 
heat ’em to-day. We’ve union, they’ve division — 
there’s the secret — (cheers). But how’s this to be 
kept up ? How’s it to be improved ? That’s the 
question. For I take it, we’re all in earnest about 
beating the school, whatever else we care about. I 
know I’d sooner win two School-house matches running 
than get the Balliol scholarship any day — (frantic 
cheers). 

‘"How, I’m as proud of the house as any one. I 
believe it’s the best house in the school, out-and-out — 
(cheers). But it’s a long way from what I want to see 
it. First there’s a deal of bullying going on. I know 
it well. I don’t prj^ about and interfere; that only 
makes it more underhand, and encourages the small 
boys to come to us with their fingers in their eyes 
telling tales, and so we should be worse off than ever. 
It’s \ ery little kindness for the sixth to meddle generally 
— you youngsters, mind that. You’ll be all the better 
football players for learning to stand it, and to take 
your own parts, and fight it through. But depend 
on it, there’s nothing breaks up a house like bullying, 


’V 


122 STANDETH UP FOB “THE DOCTOR.” 

Bullies are cowards, and one coward makes many; 
so good-bye to the School-house match if bullying gets 
ahead here. (Loud applause from the small boys, who 
look meaningly at Flashman and other boys at the 
tables.) Then there’s fuddling about in the public- 
houses, and drinking bad spirits, and punch, and such 
rot-gut stuff. That won’t make good drop-kicks or 
chargers of you, take my word for it. You get plenty 
of good beer here, and that’s enough for you; and 
drinking isn’t fine or manly, whatever some of you may 
think of it. 

“ One other thing I must have a word about. A 
lot of you think and say, for I’ve heard you, ‘ There’s 
this new Doctor hasn’t been here so long as some of us, 
and he’s changing all the old customs. Rugby, and 
the School-house especially, are going to the dogs. 
Stand uy) for the good old ways, and down with the 
Doctor 1 ' Now I’m as fond of old Rugby customs and 
ways as any of you, and I’ve been here longer than any 
of you, and I’ll give you a word of advice in time, for I 
shouldn’t like to see any of you getting sacked. ‘ Down 
with the Doctor 1 ’ is easier said than done. You’ll find 
him pretty tight on his perch, I take it, and an awk- 
wardish customer to handle in that line. Besides now, 
what customs has he put down ? There was the good 
old custom of taking the linch-pins out of the farmers’ 
and bogmen’s gigs at the fairs, and a cowardly black- 
guard custom it was. We all know what came of it ; 
and no Avonder the Doctor objected to it. But, come 
now, any of you, name a custom that he has put down.” 

“ The hounds,*” calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a 
green cutaway with brass buttons and cord trousers, the 


STANDETH UP FOK “THE DOCTOR.’* 123 

leader of the sporting interest, and reputed a great rider 
and keen hand generally. 

“ Well; we had six or seven mangey harriers and 
beagles belonging to the house, I’ll allow, and had had 
them for years, and that the Doctor put them down. 
But what good ever came of them ? Only rows with 
all the keepers for ten miles round ; and big-side Hare 
and Hounds is better fun ten times over. What else ? ” 

No answer. 

“ Well, I won’t go on. Think it over for yourselves : 
you’ll find, I believe, that he don’t meddle with any 
one that’s worth keeping. And mind now, I say again, 
look out for squalls, if you will go your own way, and 
that way ain’t the Doctor’s, for it’ll lead to grief. You 
all know that I’m not the fellow to back a master 
through thick and thin. If I saw him stopping foot- 
ball, or cricket, or bathing, or sparring, I’d be as ready 
as any fellow to stand up about it. But he don’t — he 
encourages them ; didn’t you see him out to-day for 
half-an-hour watching us ? (loud cheers for the 
Doctor ;) and he’s a strong, true man, and a wise one 
too, and a public-school man too. (Cheers.) And 
so let’s stick to him, and talk no more rot, and drink 
his health as the head of the house. (Loud cheers.) 
And now I’ve done blowing up, and very glad I arn 
to have done. But it’s a solemn thing to be thinking 
of leaving a place which one has lived in and loved for 
eight years ; and if one can say a word for the good of 
the old house at such a time, why, it should be said, 
whether bitter or sweet. If I hadn’t been proud of the 
house and you — aye, no one knows how proud — I 
shouldn’t be blowing you up. And now let’s get to 


124 


SCHOOL IDOLATRIES. 


singing. But before I sit down I must give you a 
toast to be drunk with three- times -three and all the 
honours. It’s a toast which I hope every one of us, 
wherever he may go hereafter, will never fail to drink 
when he thinks of the brave bright days of his boyhood. 
It’s a toast which should bind us all together, and to 
those who’ve gone before, and who’ll come after us 
here. It is the dear old school-house — the best house 
of the best school in England ! ” 

My dear boys, old and young, you who have be- 
longed, or do belong, to other schools and other houses, 
don’t begin throwing my poor little book about the 
room, and abusing me and it, and vowing you’ll read 
no more when you get to this point. I allow you’ve 
provocation for it. But, come now — would you, any 
of you, give a fig for a fellow who didn’t believe in, 
and stand up for his own house and his own school ? 
You know you wouldn’t. Then don’t object to my 
cracking up the old School-house, Eugby. Haven’t I 
a right to do it, when I’m taking all the trouble of 
writing this true history for all your benefits ? If you 
ain’t satisfied, go and write the history of your own 
houses in your own times, and say all you know for 
your own schools and houses, provided it’s true, and 
I’ll read it without abusing you. 

The last few words hit the audience in their weakest 
place; they had been not altogether enthusiastic at 
several parts of old Brooke’s speech ; but “ the best 
house of the best school in England” was too much 
for them all, and carried even the sporting and drinking 
interests off their legs into rapturous applause, and 
(it is to be hoped) resolutions to lead a new life and 


125 


“THE doctor” and HIS WORK. 

remember old Brooke’s words ; which, however, they 
didn’t altogether do, as will appear hereafter. 

But it required all old Brooke’s popularity to carry 
down parts of his speech; especially that relating to 
the Doctor. For there are no such bigoted holders by 
established forms and customs, be they never so foolish 
or meaningless, as English school-boys — at least, as 
the school-boy of our generation. We magnified into 
heroes every boy who h^d left, and looked upon him 
with awe and reverence, when he revisited the place a 
year or so afterwards, on his way to or from Oxford or 
Cambridge ; and happy was the boy who remembered 
him, and sure of an audience as he expounded what he 
used to do and say, tliough it were sad enough stuff to 
make angels,* not to say head-masters, weep. 

We looked upon every trumpery little custom and 
habit which had obtained in the school as though it 
had been a law of the Medes and Persians, and regarded 
the infringement or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege. 
And the Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a 
stronger liking for old school customs which were good 
and sensible, had, as has already been hinted, come 
into most decided collision with several which were 
neither the one nor the other. And as old Brooke 
had said, when he came into collision with boys or 
customs, there was nothing for them but to give in or 
take themselves off ; because what he said had to be 
done, and no mistake about it. And tliis was begin- 
ning to be pretty clearly understood ; the boys felt that 
there was a strong man over them, who would have 
tilings his own way ; and hadn’t yet learned that he 
was a wise and loving man also. His personal character 


126 


BEEAK UP OF SINGING. 


and influence had not had time to make itself felt, 
except by a very few of the bigger boys, with whom he 
came more directly in contact; and he was looked upon 
with great fear and dislike by the great majority even 
of his own house. For he had found school, and 
school-house, in a state of monstrous license and mis- 
rule, and was still employed in the necessary but 
unpopular work of setting up order with a strong 
hand. 

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, 
and the boys cheered him and then the Doctor. And 
then more songs came, and the healths of the other 
boys about to leave, who each made a speech, one 
flowery, another maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, 
which are not necessary to be here recorded. 

Half-past nine struck in the middle of the perform- 
ance of Auld Lang Syne,” a most obstreperous pro- 
ceeding during which there was an immense amount 
of standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs 
together and shaking hands, without which accom- 
paniments it seems impossible for the youth of 
Britain to take part in that famous old song. The 
under-porter of the School-house entered during the 
performance, bearing five or six long wooden 
candlesticks, with lighted dips in them, which he 
proceeded to stick into their holes in such part of 
the great tables as he could get at; and then stood 
outside the ring till the end of the song, when he was 
hailed with shouts. 

“Bill, you old muff, the half-hour hasn’t struck.’ 
“Here, Bill, drink some cocktail,” “Sing us a song 
old boy,” “ Don’t you wish you may get the table ? ' 


LAST LOYAL STRAINS. 


127 


Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, and 
putting down the empty glass, remonstrated, “ Now, 
gentlemen, there’s only ten minutes to prayers, and we 
must get the hall straight.” 

Shouts of “ No, no ! ” and a violent effort to strike 
up “ Billy Taylor ” for the third time. Bill looked 
appealingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped the 
noise. “ Now then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and 
get the tables back; clear away the jugs and glasses. 
Bill’s right. Open the windows, Warner.” The boy 
addressed, who sat by the long ropes, proceeded to pull 
up the great windows, and let in a clear fresh rush of 
night air, which made the candles flicker and gutter, 
and the fires roar. The circle broke up, each collaring 
his own jug, glass, and song- book ; Bill pounced on 
the big table, and began to rattle it away to its place 
outside the buttery-door. The lower-passage boys 
carried off their small tables, aided by their friends, 
while above all, standing on the great hall-table, a knot 
of untiring sons of harmony made night doleful by a 
prolonged performance of “ God save the King.” His 
Majesty King William IV. then reigned over us, a- 
monarch deservedly popular amongst the boys addicted 
to melody, to whom he was chiefly known from the 
beginning of that excellent, if slightly vulgar, song in 
which they much delighted — 

** Come, neighbours all, both great and small. 

Perform your duties liere, 

And loudly sing ‘ live Billy our king,' 

For bating the tax upon beer.” 


Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated his 
praises in a sort of ballad, which I take to have been 


128 


PHAYERS. 


written by some Irish loyalist. I have forgotten all 
but the chorus, which ran — 

** God save our good King William, be his name for ever blessed ; 

He’s the father of all his people, and the guardian of all the rest.** 

In troth, we were loyal subjects in those days, in a 
rough way. I trust that our successors make as much 
of her present Majesty, and, having regard to the 
greater refinement of the times, have adopted or written 
other songs equally hearty, but more civilized, in her 
honour. 

Then the quarter to ten struck, and the prayer-bell 
rang. The sixth and fifth form boys ranged themselves 
in their school order along the wall, on either side ot 
the great fires, the middle fifth and upper-school boys 
round the long table in the middle of the hall, and the 
lower-school boys round the upper part of the second 
long table, which ran down the side of the hall furthest 
from the fires. Here Tom found himself at the bottom 
of all, in a state of mind and body not at all fit for 
prayers, as he thought ; and so tried hard to make 
himself serious, but couldn’t, for the life of him, do 
anything but repeat in his head the choruses of some 
of the songs, and stare at all the boys opposite, won- 
dering at the brilliancy of their waistcoats, and specu- 
lating what sort of fellows they were. The steps of the 
head-porter are heard on the stairs, and a light gleams 
at the door. “ Hush ! ” from the fifth-form boys who 
stand there, and then in strides the Doctor, cap on 
head, book in one hand, and gathering up his gown in 
the other. He walks up the middle, and takes his post 
by Warner, who begins calliug over the names. The 


TOSSING. 


129 


Doctor takes no notice of anything, but quietly turns 
over his book and finds the place, and then stands, cap 
in hand and finger in book, looking straight before his 
nose. He knows better than any one when to look, 
and when to see nothing; to-night is singing night, 
and there’s been lots of noise and no harm done ; 
nothing but beer drunk, and nobody the worse for it ; 
though some of them do look hot and excited. So the 
Doctor sees nothing, but fascinates Tom in a horrible 
manner as he stands there, and reads out the Psalm in 
that deep, ringing, searching voice of his. Prayers 
are over, and Tom still stares open-mouthed after the 
Doctor’s retiring figure, when he feels a pull at his 
sleeve, and turning round, sees Ea^t. 

“ I say, were you ever tossed in a blanket ? ” 

“ No,” said Tom ; “ why ? ” 

’Cause there’ll be tossing to-night, most likely, 
before the sixth- come up to bed. So if you funk, you 
just come along and hide, or else they’ll catch you and 
toss you.’' 

“ Were you ever tossed ? Does it hurt ? ” inquired 
Tom. 

“Oh yes, bless you, a dozen times,” said East, as he 
hobbled along by Tom’s side up-stairs. “ It don’t hurt 
unless you fall on the fioor. But most fellows don’t 
like it.” 

They stopped at the fireplace irr the top passage, 
where were a crowd of small boys whispering together, 
and evidently unwilling to go up into the bedrooms. 
In a minute, however, a study door opened, and a 
sixth-form boy came out, and off they all scuttled up 
the staks,. and then noiselessly dispersed to their 

K 


130 


FLASHMAN MUZZLED. 


different rooms. Tom’s heart heat rather quick as he 
and East reached their room, but he had made up his 
mind. I shan’t hide, East,” said he. 

“Very well, old fellow,” replied East, evidently 
pleased ; “ no more shall I — they’ll be here for us 
directly.” 

The room was a great big one, with a dozen beds in 
it, but not a boy that Tom could see, except East and 
himself. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and 
then sat on the bottom of his bed, whistling, and pull- 
ing off his boots ; Tom followed his example. 

A noise and steps are heard in the passage, the door 
opens, and in rush four or five great fifth- form boys, 
headed by Flashman in his glory. 

Tom and East slept in the further corner of the room, 
and were not seen at first. 

“ Gone to ground, eh ? ” roared Flashman ; “ push 
’em out then, boys ! look under the beds : ” and he 
pulled up the little white curtain of the one nearest 
him. “Who-o-op,” he roared, pulling away at the 
leg of a small boy, who held on tight to the leg of the 
bed, and sung out lustily for mercy. 

“Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull 
out this young howling brute. Hold your tongue, sir, 
or I’ll kill you.” 

“ Oh, please, Fiashman, please. Walker, don’t toss me ! 
I’ll fag for you, I’ll do anything, only don’t toss me.” 

“Vou be hanged,'’ said Flashman, lugging the 

wretched boy along, “ ’twont hurt you, you ! 

Come along, boys, here he is.” 

“ I say. Flashy,” sung out another of the big boys, 
“drop that; you heaid what old Pater Brooke said 


EAST AND* TOM DEVOTE THEMSELVES. 131 

to-night. I’ll he hanged if we’ll toss any one against 
their will — no more bullying. Let him go, I say.” 

Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his 
prey, who rushed headlong under his bed again, for 
fear they should change their minds, and crept along 
underneath the other beds, till he got under that of the 
sixth-form boy, which he knew they daren’t disturb. 

‘‘There’s plenty of youngsters don’t care about it,” 
said Walker. “Here, here’s Scud East — you’ll be tossed, 
won’t you, young un ?” Scud was East’s nickname, or 
Black, as we called it, gained by his fleetness of foot. 

“Yes,” said East, “if you like, only mind my foot.” 

“And here’s another who didn’t hide. Hullo 1 new 
boy ; what’s your name, sir ?” 

“ Brown.” 

“ Well, Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being tossed ? ” 

“ Ho,” said Tom, setting his bieth. 

“Come along then, boys,” sung out Walker; and 
away they all went, carrying along Tom and East, to 
the intense relief of four or five other small boys, who 
crept outTrom under the beds and behind them. 

“What a trump Scud is!” said one. “They won’t 
come back here now.” 

“ And that new boy, too ; he must be a good plucked 
one.” 

“Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor; 
see how he’ll like it then ! ” 

Meantime the procession went, down the passage to 
Number 7, the largest room, and the scene of tossing, 
in the middle of which was a great open space. Here 
they joined other parties of the bigger boys, each with 
a captive or two, some willing to be tossed, some sullen, 

K 2 


132 


A bully’s refinements. 


and some frightened to death. At Walker’s suggestion^ 
all who were afraid were let off, in honour of Pater 
Brooke’s speech. 

Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket 
dragged from one of the beds. “ In with Scud, quick ! 
there’s no time to lose.” East was chucked into the 
blanket. “ Once, twice, thrice, and away ; ” up he went 
like a shuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling. 

“Now, boys, with a will,” cried Walker, “once, 
twice, thrice, and away ! ” This time he went clean 
up, and kept himself from touching the ceiling with his 
hand ; and so again a third time, when he was turned 
out, and up went another boy. And then came Tom’s 
turn. He lay quite still, by East’s advice, and didn’t 
dislike the “ once, twice, thrice ; ” but the “ away ” 
wasn’t so pleasant. They were in good wind now, and 
sent him slap up to the ceiling first time, against which 
his knees came rather sharply. But the moment’s 
pause before descending was the rub, the feeling of 
utter helplessness, and of leaving his whole inside be- 
hind him sticking to the ceiling. Tom was very near 
shouting to be set down, when he found himself back 
in the blanket, but thought of East, and didn’t ; and 
so took his three tosses without a kick or a cry, and 
was called a young trump for his pains. 

He and East, having earned it, stood now look- 
ing on. No catastrophe happened, as all the captives 
were cool hands, and didn’t struggle. This didn’t suit 
Elashman. What your real bully likes in tossing, is 
when the boys kick and struggle, or hold on to one side 
of the blanket, and so get pitched bodily on to the floor j 
it’s no fun to him when no one is hurt or frightened. 


FLASHMAN CHECKED. 133 

“Let’s toss two of them together, Walker,” sug- 
gested he. 

“ What a cursed bully you are, Flashy 1 ” rejoined 
the other. “Up with another one.” 

And so no two boys were tossed together, the 
peculiar hardship of which is, that it’s too much 
for human nature to lie still then and share troubles ; 
and so the wretched pair of small boys struggle in the 
air which shall fall a-top in the descent, to the no 
small risk of both falling out of the blanket, and 
the huge delight of brutes like Flashman. 

But now there’s a cry that the praepostor of the room 
is coming ; so the tossing stops, and all scatter to their 
different rooms : and Tom is left to turn in, with the first 
day's experience of a public school to meditate upon. 


134 


WAKING. 


CHAPTER VIL 

SETTLING TO THE COLLAE. 

Says Giles, “’Tis mortal liard to go ; 

But if so be’s I must, 

I means to follow arter he 
As goes hisself the fvL&V*— Ballad. 



VERYBODY,Isiip. 
pose, knows tlie 
dreamy delicious 
state in wliicli one 
lies, half asleep, half 
awake, while con- 
sciousness begins to 
return, after a sound 
night’s rest in a new 
place which we are 
glad to he in, fol- 
lowing upon a day 
of unwonted ex- 
citement and exer- 
tion. There are few 
pleasanter pieces of 
life. The W’orst of 
it is that they last 
such a short time ; for, nurse them as you will, by lying 
perfectly passive in mind and body, you can’t make 



MOVEMENTS OF BOGLE. 135 

more than five minutes or so of them. After which 
time, the stupid, obtrusive, wakeful entity which we 
call ‘ I,’ as impatient as he is stiff-necked, spite of our 
teeth will force himself back again, and take possession 
of us down to our very toes. 

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half- 
past seven on the morning following the day of his 
arrival, and from his clean little white bed watched the 
movements of Bogle (the generic name by which the 
successive shoeblacks of the School-house were known), 
as he marched round from bed to bed, collecting the 
dirty shoes and boots, and depositing clean ones in 
their places. 

There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in 
the universe he was, but conscious that he had made 
a step in life which he had been anxious to make. It 
was only just light as he looked lazily out of the wide 
windows, and saw the tops of the great elms, and the 
rooks circling about, and cawing remonstrances to the 
lazy ones of their commonwealth, before starting in a 
body for the neighbouring ploughed fields. The noise 
of the room-door closing behind Bogle, as he made his 
exit with the shoe-basket under his arm, roused Tom 
thoroughly, and he sat up in bed and looked round the 
room. What in the world could be the matter with 
his shoulders and loins ? He felt as if he had been 
severely beaten all down his back, the natural result 
of his performance at his first match. He drew up his 
knees and rested his chin on them, and went over all 
the events of yesterday, rejoicing in his new life, what 
he had seen of it, and all that was to come. 

Presently one or two of the other boys roused them- 


136 


LIE-IN-BED MOKNING. 


selves, and began to sit up and talk to one another in 
low tones. Then East, after a roll or two, came to an 
anchor also, and, nodding to Tom, began examining 
his ankle. 

“What a pull,” said he, “that it’s lie-in-bed, for 
I shall be as lame as a tree, I think.” 

It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had 
not yet been established ; so that nothing but breakfast 
intervened between bed and eleven o’clock chapel — a 
gap by no means easy to fill up : in fact, though re- 
ceived with the correct amount of grumbling, the first 
lecture instituted by the Doctor shortly afterwards was 
a great boon to the School. It was lie in bed, and no 
one was in a hurry to get up, especially in rooms where 
the sixth-form boy was a good-tempered fellow, as was 
the case in Tom’s room, and allowed the small boys to 
talk and laugh, and do pretty much what they pleased, 
so long as they didn’t disturb him. His bed was a 
bigger one than the rest, standing in the corner by the 
fireplace, with a washing-stand and large basin by the 
side, where he lay in state, with his white curtains 
tucked in so as to form a retiring place : an awful sub- 
ject of contemplation to Tom, who slept nearly opposite, 
and watched the great man rouse himself and take a 
book from under his pillow, and begin reading, leaning 
his head on his hand, and turning his back to the 
room. Soon, however, a noise of striving urchins arose, 
and muttered encouragements from the neighbouring 
boys, of— -“ Go it. Tadpole ! ” “ Now, young Green ! ” 

“Haul away his blanket!” “Slipper him on the 
hands ! ” Young Green and little Hall, commonly 
called Tadpole, from his great black head and thin 


GETTING UP. 


137 


legs, slept side by side far away by the door, and were 
for ever playing one another tricks, which usually 
ended, as on this morning, in open and violent collision : 
and now, unmindful of all order and authority, there 
they were, each hauling away at the other’s bed-clothes 
with one hand, and with the other, armed with a 
slipper, belabouring whatever portion of the body of 
his adversary came within reach. 

“ Hold that noise, up in the corner,” called out the 
praepostor, sitting up and looking round his curtains ; 
and the Tadpole and young Green sank down into their 
disordered beds, and then, lookin<» at his watch, added 
‘‘ Hullo, past eight ! — whose turn for hot water ? ” 

(Where the praepostor was particular in his ablu- 
tions, the fags in his room had to descend in turn to 
the kitchen, and beg or steal hot water for him; and 
often the custom extended further, and two boys went 
down every morning to get a supply for the whole 
room.) 

“East’s and Tadpole’s,” answered the senior fag, 
who kept the rota. 

“ I can’t go,” said East; I’m dead 

“ Well, be quick, some of you, that’s all, ' said the 
great man, as he turned out of bed, and putting on his 
slippers, went out into the great passage which runs 
the whole length of the bedrooms, to get his Sunday 
habiliments out of his portmanteau. 

“ Let me go for you,” said Tom to East, “ I should 
like it.” 

“Well, thank’ee, that’s a good fellow. Just pull on 
your trousers, and take your jug and mine. Tadpole 
will show you the way.” ' 


138 THE "close” BEFOliE CHAPEL. 

And so Tom and the Tadpole^ in night-shirts and 
trousers, started off down-stairs, and through " Thos’s 
hole,” as the little buttery, where candles and beer and 
bread and cheese were served out at night, was called ; 
across the School-house court, down a long passage, 
and into the kitchen ; where, after some parley with 
the stalwart, handsome cook, who declared that she had 
filled a dozen jugs already, they got their hot water, 
and returned with all speed and great caution. As it 
was, they narrowly escaped capture by some privateers 
from the fifth-form rooms, who were on the look-out 
for the hot-water convoys, and pursued them up to the 
very door of their room, making them spill half their 
load in the passage. " Better than going down again 
though,” Tadpole remarked, " as we should have had to 
do, if those beggars had caught us.” 

By the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom 
and his new comrades were all down, dressed in their 
best clothes, and he had the satisfaction of answering 
" here ” to his name for the first time, the praepostor of 
the week having put it in at the bottom of his list. And 
then came breakfast, and a saunter about the close and 
town with East, whose lameness only became severe 
when any fagging had to be done. And so they whiled 
away the time until morning chapel. 

It was a fine November murning, and the close soon 
became alive with boys of all ages, who sauntered about 
on the grass, or walked round the gravel walk, in 
parties of two or three. East, still doing the cicerone, 
pointed out all the remarkable characters to Tom as 
they passed: Osbert, who could throw a cricket-ball 
from the little-side ground over the rook trees to the 


MORNING CHAPEL. 


139 


Doctor’s wall ; Gray, who had got the Balliol scholar- 
ship, and, what East evidently thought of much more 
importance, a half- holiday for the School by his success ; 
Thorne, who had run ten miles in two minutes over the 
hour; Black, who had held his own against the cock 
of the town in the last row with the louts ; and many 
more heroes, who then and there walked about and 
were worshipped, all trace of whom has long since 
vanished from the scene of their fame ; and the fourth- 
form boy who reads their names rudely cut out on the 
old hall tables, or painted upon the big side-cupboard 
(if hall tables, and big side-cupboards still exist), won- 
ders what manner of boys they were. It will be the 
same with you who wonder, my sons, whatever your 
prowess may be, in cricket, or scholarship, or football. 
Two or three years, more or less, and then the steadily 
advancing, blessed wave will pass over your names as 
it has passed over ours. Nevertheless, play your games 
and do your work manfully — see only that that be 
done, and let the remembrance of it take care of itself. 

The chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to eleven, 
and Tom got in early and took his place in the lowest 
row, and watched all the other boys come in and take 
their places, filling row after row; and tried to con- 
strue the Greek text which was inscribed over the door 
with the slightest possible success, and wondered which 
of the masters, who walked down the chapel and took 
their seats in the exalted boxes at the end, would be 
his lord. And then came the closing of the doors, and 
the Doctor in his robes and the service, which, however, 
didn’t impress him much, for his feeling of wonder and 
curiosity was too strong. And the boy on one side of 


140 ^AFTERNOON CHAPEL. 

him was scratching his name on the oak panelling in 
front, and he couldn’t help watching to see what the 
name was, and whetlier it was well scratched ; and the 
hoy on the other side went to sleep and kept falling 
against him ; and on the wliole, though many boys 
even in that part of the School were serious and 
attentive, the general atmosphere was by no means 
devotional ; and when he got out into the close again, he 
didn’t feel at all comfortable, or as if he had been to 
church. 

But at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing- 
He had spent the time after dinner in writing home to 
his mother, and so was in a better frame of mind ; and 
his first curiosity was over, and he could attend more 
to the service. As the hymn after the prayers was 
being sung, and the chapel was getting a little dark, 
he was beginning to feel that he had been really wor- 
shipping. And then came that great event in his, as 
in every Rugby boy’s life of that day — the first sermon 
from the Doctor. 

More worthy pens than mine have described that 
scene. The oak pulpit standing out by itself above the 
School seats. The tall gallant form, the kindling eye, 
the voice, now soft as the low notes of a flute, now clear 
and stirring as the call of the light infantry bugle, of 
him who stood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing 
and pleading for his Lord, the King of righteousness 
and love and glory, with whose spirit he was filled, and 
in whose power he spoke. The long lines of young 
faces, rising tier above tier down the whole length of 
the chapel, from the little boy’s who had just left his 
mother to the young man’s who was going out next 


THE SERMON. 


141 


week into the great world rejoicing in his strength. It 
was a great and solemn sight, and never more so than 
at this time of year, when the only lights in the chapel 
were in the pulpit and at the seats of the praepostors of 
the week, and the soft twiliglit stole over the rest of 
the chapel, deepening into darkness in the high gallery 
behind the organ. 

But what was it after all which seized and held 
these three hundred boys, dragging them out of them- 
selves, willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes, on 
Sunday afternoon ? True, there always were boys 
scattered up and down the School, who in heart and 
head were worthy to hear and able to carry away the 
deepest and wisest words there spoken. But these 
were a minority always, generally a very small one, 
often so small a one as to be countable on the fingers 
of your hand. What was it that moved and held us^ 
the rest of the three hundred reckless, childish boys, 
who feared the Doctor with all our hearts, and very 
little besides in heaven or earth : who thought more of 
our sets in the School than of the Church of Christy 
and put the traditions of Eugby and the public opinion 
of boys in our daily life above the laws of God ? We 
couldn’t enter into half that we heard ; we hadn’t the 
knowledge of our own hearts or the knowledge of one 
another ; and little enough of the faith, hope, and love 
needed to that end. But we listened, as all boys in 
their better moods will listen (aye, and men too, for the 
matter of that), to a man who we felt to be, with all his 
heart and soul and strength, striving against whatever 
was mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our little 
world. It was not the cold clear voice of one giving 


142 


THE doctor’s first HOLD. 


advice and warning from sen ne heights to those who 
were struggling and sinning helow, but the warm living 
voice of one who was fighting for ns and by our sides, 
and calling on us to help him and ourselves and one 
another. And so, wearily and little by little, but surely 
and steadily on the whole, was brought home to the 
young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life : 
that it was no fool’s, or sluggard’s paradise into which 
he had wandered by chance, but a battle-field ordained 
from of old, where there are no spectators, but the 
youngest must take his side, and the stakes are life 
and death. And he who roused his consciousness in 
them showed them at the same time, by every word he 
spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole daily life, how 
that battle was to be fought; and stood there before 
them their fellow- soldier and the captain of their band. 
The true sort of captain, too, for a boy’s army, one 
who had no misgivings and gave no uncertain word of 
command, and, let whcr would yield or make a truce, 
would fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to the last 
gasp and the last drop of blood. Other sides of his 
character might take hold of and influence boys here 
and there, but it was this thoroughness and undaunted 
courage which more than anything else won his way to 
the hearts of the great mass of those on whom he left 
his mark, and made them believe first in him, and then 
in his Master. 

It was this quality above all others which moved 
such boys as our hero, who had nothing whatever 
remarkable about him except excess of boyishness ; by 
which I mean animal life in its fullest measure, good 
nature and honest impulses, hatred of injustice and 


TOM BEGINS HIS LESSONS. 


143 


meanness, and thoughtlessness enough to sink a three- 
decker. And so, during the next two years, in which 
it was more than doubtful whether he would get good 
or evil from the School, and before anj^ steady purpose 
or principle grew up in him, whatever his week’s sins 
and shortcomings might have been, he hardly ever left 
the chapel on Sunday evenings • without a serious re- 
solve to stand by and follow the Doctor, and a feeling 
that it was only cowardice (the incarnation of all other 
sins in such a boy’s mind) which hindered him from 
doing so with all his heart. 

The next day Tom was duly placed in the third 
form, and began his lessons in a corner of the big 
School. He found the work very easy, as he had been 
well grounded, and knew his grammar by heart ; and, 
as he had no intimate companion to make him idle 
(East and his other School-house friends being in the 
lower fourth, the form above him), soon gained golden 
opinions from his master, who said he was placed too 
low, and should be put out at the end of the half-year. 
So all went well with him in School, and he wrote the 
most flourishing letters home to his mother, full of his 
success and the unspeakable delights of a public school. 

In the house, too, all went well. The end of the 
half-year was drawing near, which kept everybody in a 
good humour, and the house was ruled well and 
strongly by Warner and Brooke. True, the general 
system was rough and hard, and there was bullying in 
nooks and corners, bad signs for the future; but it 
never got further, or dared show itself openly, stalking 
about the passages and hall and bedrooms, and making 
the life of the small boys a continual fear. 


144 


HOUSE FAGGING. 


Tom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging for 
the first month, but in his enthusiasm for his new life 
this privilege hardly pleased him ; and East and others 
of his young friends discovering this, kindly allowed 
him to indulge his fancy, and take their turns at night 
fagging and cleaning studies. These were the principal 
duties of the fags in the house. From supper until 
nine o’clock, three fags taken in order stood in the 
passages, and answered any praepostor who called Fag, 
racing to the door, the last comer having to do the 
work. This consisted generally of going to the buttery 
for beer and bread and cheese (for the great men did 
not sup with the rest, but had each his own allowance 
in his study or the fifth-form room), cleaning candle, 
sticks and putting in new candles, toasting cheese 
bottling beer, and carrying messages about the house ; 
and Tom, in the first blush ot his hero-worship, felt it 
a high privilege to receive orders from, and be the 
bearer of, the supper of old Brooke. And besides this 
night-work, each praepostor had three or four fags spe- 
cially allotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be 
the guide, philosopher, and friend, and who in return 
for these good offices had to clean out his study every 
morning by turns, directly after first lesson and before 
he returned from breakfast. And the pleasure of seeing 
the great men’s studies, and looking at their pictures, 
and peeping into their books, made Tom a ready sub- 
stitute for any boy who was too lazy to do his own 
work. And so he soon gained the character of a good- 
natured willing fellow, who was ready to do a turn 
for any one. 

In all the games too he joined with all his heart 



THE NIGHT FAG, 


P. I4I 




HAllE AND HOUNDS. 


145 


and soon became well versed in all the mysteries of 
football, by continued practice at the School-house 
little-side, which played daily. 

The only incident worth recording here, however, 
was his first run at Hare-and-hounds. On the last 
Tuesday but one of the half-year he was passing 
through the Hall after dinner, when he was hailed with 
shouts from Tadpole and several other fags seated at 
one of the long tables, the chorus of which was “ Come 
and help us tear up scent.” 

Tom approached the table in obedience to the mys- 
terious summons, always ready to help, and found the 
party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, copy- 
books, and magazines, into small pieces, with which 
they were filling four large canvas bags. 

“ Ifs the turn of our house to find scent for big- side 
Hare-and-hounds,” exclaimed Tadpole; "tear away, 
there’s no time to lose before calling-over.” 

"I think it’s a great shame,” said another small 
boy, “ to have such a hard run for the last day.” 

" Which run is it ? ” said Tadpole. 

" Oh, the Barby run, I hear,” answered the other ; 
“nine miles at least, and hard ground; no chance of 
getting in at the finish, unless you’re a first-ra'e 
scud.” 

“ Well, I’m going to have a try,” said Tadpole j 
“ it’s the last run of the half, and if a fellow gets in at 
the end, big-side stands ale and bread and cheese, and 
a bowl of punch ; and the Cock’s such a famous place 
for ale.” 

“ I should like to try too,” said Tom. 

“Well then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen 

L 


146 


TPIE MEET. 


at the door, after calling-over, and you’ll hear where 
the meet is.” 

After calling-over, sure enough, there were two boys 
at the door, calling out, ^"Big-side Hare-and-hounds 
meet at White Hall;” and Tom, having girded himself 
with leather strap, and left all superfluous clothing be- 
hind, set off for White Hall, an old gable-ended house 
some quarter of a mile from town, with East, whom 
he had persuaded to join, notwithstanding his prophecy 
that they could never get in, as it was the hardest ruu 
of the year. 

At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, and 
Tom felt sure, from having seen many of them run at 
football, that he and East were more likely to get in 
than they. 

After a few minutes’ waiting, tw’O well-known run- 
ners, chosen for the hares, buckled on the four bags 
filled with scent, compared their watches with those of 
young Brooke and Thorne, and started off at a long 
slinging trot across the fields in the direction of 
Barby. 

Then the hounds clustered round Thorne, who ex- 
plained shortly, “They’re to have six minutes’ law. 
We run into the Cock, and every one who comes in 
within a quarter of an hour of the hares ’ll be counted, 
if he has been round Barby church.” Then came a 
minute’s pause or so, and then the watches are pocketed^ 
and the pack is led through the gateway into the field 
which the hares had first crossed. Here they break 
into a trot, scattering over the field to find the first 
traces of the scent which the hares throw out as they 
go along. The old hounds make straight for the likely 


THE FIKST BURST. 


147 


points, and in a minute a cry of “forward” comes 
from one of them, and the whole pack quickening theii 
pace make tor the spot, while the boy who hit the scent 
first and the two or three nearest to him are over the 
first fence, and making play along the hedgerow in the 
long grass-field beyond. The rest of the pack rush at 
the gap already made, and scramble through, jostling 
one another. “Forward” again, before they are half 
through; the pace quickens into a sharp run, the tail 
hounds all straining to get up with the lucky leaders. 
They are gallant hares, and the scent lies thick right 
across another meadow and into a ploughed field, where 
the pace begins to tell ; and then over a good wattle with a 
ditch on the other side, and down a large pasture 
studded with old thorns, which slopes down to the first 
brook; the great Leicestershire sheep charge away 
across the field as the pack comes racing down the 
slope. Tiie brook is a small one, and the scent lies 
right ahead up the opposite slope, and as thick as ever ; 
not a turn or a check to favour the tail hounds, who 
strain on, now trailing in a long line, many a youngster 
beginning to drag his legs heavily, and feel his heart 
beat like a hammer, and the bad plucked ones thinking 
that after all it isn’t worth while to keep it up. 

Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and 
are well up for such young hands, and after rising the 
slope and crossing the. next field, find themselves up 
with the leading hounds, who have over-run the scent 
and are trying back ; they have come a mile and a half 
in about eleven minutes, a pace w'hich shows that it is 
the last day. About twenty-five of the original starters 
only show here, the rest having already given in ; the 


148 


THE FIRST CHECK. 


leaders are busy making casts into the fields on the left 
and right, and the others get their second winds. 

Then comes the cry of forward " again, from young 
Brooke, from the extreme left, and the pack settles 
down to work again steadily and doggedly, the whole 
keeping pretty well together. TL . scent, though still 
good, is not so thick ; there is no need of that, for in 
this part of the run every one knows the line which 
must be taken, and so there are no casts to be made, 
but good downright running and fencing to be done. 
All who are now up mean corning in, and they come 
to the foot of Bar by Hill without losing more than two 
or three more of the pack. This last straight two miles 
and a halt is always a vantage ground for the hounds, 
and the hares know it well ; they are generally 
viewed on the side of Barby Hill, and all eyes are on 
the look-out for them to-day. But not a si^n of them 
appears, so now will be the hard work for the hounds, 
and there is nothing for it but to cast about for the 
scent, for it is how the hares’ turn, and they may baffle 
the pack dreadfully in the next two miles. 

Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they are 
School-house boys, and so follow young Brooke, for he 
takes the wide casts round to the left, conscious of his 
own powers, and loving the hard work. lor it you 
would consider for a moment, you small boys, you would 
remember that the Cock, where the run ends, and the 
good ale will be going, lies far out to the right on the 
D unchurch road, so that every cast you take to the left 
is so much extra work. And at this stage of the run, 
when the evening is closing in already, no one remarks 
whether you run a little cunning or not, so you should 


NO GO. 


149 


stick to those crafty hounds who keep edging away to 
the right, and not follow a prodigal like young Brooke, 
whose legs are twice as long as yours and of cast-iron, 
wholly indifferent to two or three miles more or less. 
However, they struggle after him, sobbing and plun- 
ging along, Tom and East pretty close, and Tadpole, 
whose big head begins to pull him down, some thirty 
yards behind. 

Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which 
they can hardly drag their legs, and they hear faint 
cries for help from the wretched Tadpole, who has 
fairly stuck fast. But they have too little run left in 
themselves to pull up for their own brothers. Three 
fields more, and another check, and then forward ” 
called away to the extreme right. 

The two boys' souls die within them ; they can never 
do it. Young Brooke thinks so too, and says kindly, 
“You’ll cross a lane after next field, keep down it, and 
you’ll hit the D unchurch road below the Cock,” and 
then steams away for the run in, in which he’s sure to 
be first, as if he were just starting. They struggle on 
across the next field, the “forwards” getting fainter 
and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole hunt is out 
of ear-shot, and all hope of coming in is over. 

“ Jiang it all ! ” broke out East, as soon as he had 
got wind enough, pulling off his hat and mopping at 
his face, all spattered with dirt and lined with sweat, 
from which went up a thick steam into the still cold 
air. “ I told you how it would be. What a thick 
I was to come ! Here we are dead beat, and yet 
I know we’re close to the run in, if we knew the 
country.’* 


150 


THE EEACTION. 


“Well,” said Tom mopping av/ay, and gulping 
down his disappointment, “it cant he helped. We 
did our best anyhow. Hadn’t we better find this 
lane, and go down it, as young Brooke told us ? ” 

“ I suppose so — nothing else for it,” grunted East 
“If ever I go out last day again,” growl — growl — 
growl. 

So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found 
the lane, and went limping down it, plashing in the 
cold puddly ruts, and beginning to feel how the run 
had taken it out of them. The evening closed in fast, 
and clouded over, dark, cold, and dreary. 

“I say, it must be locking-up, I should think,” 
remarked East, breaking the silence ; “ it’s so dark.” 

“ What if we’re late ? ” said Tom. 

“ Ho tea, and sent up to the Doctor,” answered East. 

The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. Pre- 
sently a faint halloo was heard from an adjoining field. 
They answered it and stopped, hoping for some compe- 
tent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some twenty 
yards ahead crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state 
of collapse ; he had lost a shoe in the brook, and been 
groping after it up to his elbows in the stiff wet clay, 
and a more miserable creature in the shape of boy 
seldom has been seen. 

The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for 
he was some degrees more wretched than they. They 
also cheered him, as he was now no longer under the 
dread of passing his night alone in the fields. And so 
ill better heart, the three plashed painfully down the 
never-ending lane. At last it widened, just as utttr 
darkness set in, and they come out on to a turnpike- 


CONSEQUENCES. 


151 


road, and there paused, bewildered, for they had lost all 
bearings, and knew not whether to turn to the right oi 
left. 

Luckily for them they had nob to decide, for lumber- 
ing along the road, with one lamp lighted, and two 
spavined horses in the shafts, came a heavy coach, which 
after a moment’s suspense they recognised as the Oxford 
coach, the redoubtable Pig and Wliistle. 

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys mustering theit 
last run, caught it as it passed, and began scrambling 
up behind, in which exploit East missed his footing and 
fell flat on his nose along the road. Then the others 
hailed the old scarecrow of a coachman, who pulled up 
and agreed to take them in for a shilling; so there 
they sat on the back seat, drubbing with their heels, and 
their teeth chattering with cold, and jogged into Pugby 
some forty minutes after locking-up. 

Five minutes afterwards, three small limping shiver- 
ing figures steal along through the Doctor’s garden, and 
into the house by the servants’ entrance (all the other 
gates have been closed long since), where the first thing 
they light upon in the passage is old Thomas, ambling 
along, candle in one hand and keys in the other. 

He stops and examines their condition with a grim 
smile. Ah ! East, Hall, and Brown, late for locking-up. 
Must go up to the Doctor’s study at once.” 

“ Well but, Thomas, mayn’t we go and wash first ? 
You can put down the time, you know.” 

Doctor’s study d’recly you come in — that’s the 
orders,” replied old Thomas, motioning towards tho 
stairs at the end of the passage which led up into the 
Doctor’s house ; and the boys turned ruefully down it, 


152 


WHO SHALL BELL THE CAT? 


not cheered by the old verger’s muttered remark, 
" What a pickle they hoys be in ! ” Thomas referred 
to their faces and habiliments, but they construed it as 
indicating the Doctor’s state of mind. Upon the short 
flight of stairs they paused to hold counsel. 

“ Who’ll go in first ? ” inquires Tadpole. 

“ You— you’re the senior,” answered East. 

“ Catch me — look at the state I’m in,” rejoined 
Hall, showing the arms of his jacket. “ I must get 
behind you two.” 

“ Well, but look at me,” said East, indicating the 
mass of clay behind which he was standing ; “ I’m 
worse than you, two to one ; you might grow cabbages 
on my trousers.” 

“ That’s all down below, and you can keep your legs 
behind the sofa,” said Hall. 

“ Here, Brown, you’re the show-figure — you must lead.” 

“ But my face is all muddy,” argued Tom. 

“ Oh, we’re all in one boat for that matter ; but come 
on, we’re only making it worse, dawdling here.” 

“Well, just give us a brush then,” said Tom; and 
they began trying to rub off the superfluous dirt from 
each other’s jackets, but it was not dry enough, and 
the rubbing made it worse ; so in despair they pushed 
through the swing door at the head of the stairs, and 
found themselves in the Doctor’s hall. 

“That’s the library door,” said East in a whisper, 
pushing Tom forwards. The sound of merry voices 
and laughing came from within, and his first hesitating 
knock was unanswered. But at the second, the Doctor’s 
voice said “ Come in,” and Tom turned the handle, and 
he, with the others behind him, sidled into the room. 


THEIR RECEPTION. 


153 


The Doctor looked up from his task ; he was working 
away with a great chisel at the bottom of a boy’s sailing 
boat, the lines of which he was no doubt fashioning on 
the model of one of Mcias’ galleys. Eound him stood 
three or four children ; the candles burnt brightly on a 
large table at the further end covered with books and 
papers, and a great fire threw a ruddy glow over the 
rest of the room. All looked so kindly, and homely, 
and comfortable, that the boys took heart in a moment, 
and Tom advanced from behind the shelter of the great 
sofa. The Doctor nodded to the children, w^ho went 
out, casting curious and amused glances at the three 
young scarecrows. 

“ Well, my little fellows, ” began the Doctor, drawing 
himself up with his back to the fire, the chisel in one 
hand and his coat-tails in the other, and his eyes 
twinkling as he looked tl)em over; “what makes you 
so late ? ” 

“ Please, sir, we’ve been out Big-side Hare-and- 
hounds, and lost our way.” 

“ Hah ! you couldn’t keep up, I suppose ? ” 

“Well, sir,” said East, stepping out, and not liking 
that the Doctor should think lightly of his running 
powers, “ we got round Barby all right, but then — 

“ Why, what a state you’re in, my boy ! ” interrupted 
the Doctor, as the pitiful condition of East’s garments 
was fully revealed to him. 

“That’s the fall I got, sir, in the road,” said East, 
looking down at himself ; “ the Old Pig came by — ** 

“ Tlie what ? ” said the Doctor. 

“ The Oxford coach, sir,’* explained Hall. 

“ Hah ! yes, the Eegulator,” said the Doctor. 


154 


TIIEIK EXPLANATION. 


“ And I tumbled on my face trying to get up be- 
hind,” went on East. 

“ You’re not hurt, 1 hope ? ” said the Doctor. 

“ Oh no, sir.” 

“Well now, run up-stairs, all three of you, and get 
clean things on, and then tell the housekeeper to give 
you some tea. You’re too young to try such long runs* 
Let Warner know I’ve seen you. Good night.” 

“ Good night, sir.” And away scuttled the three 
boys in high glee. 

“ What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines to 
learn I ” said the Tadpole, as they reached their bed- 
room ; and in half-an-hour afterwards they were sitting 
by the fire in the housekeeper’s room at a sumptuous 
tea, with cold meat, “ twice as good a grub as we should 
have got in the hall,” as the Tadpole remarked with a 
grin, his mouth full of buttered toast. All their griev- 
ances were forgotten, and they were resolving to go out 
the first big-side next lialf, and thinking Hare-and- 
hounds the most delightful of games. 

A day or two afterwards the great passage outside 
the bedrooms was cleared of the boxes and portman- 
teaus, which went down to be packed by the matron, 
and great games of chariot-racing, and cock-fighting^ 
and bolstering, went on in the vacant space, the sure 
sign of a closing half-year. 

Then came the making-up of parties for the journey 
home, and Tom joined a party who were to hire a coach, 
and post with four horses to Oxford. 

Then the last Saturday, on which the Doctor came 
' round to each form to give out the prizes, and hear the 
masters’ last reports of how they and their charges had 




OLD THOMAS IN HIS DEN. 


LAST DAYS. 


155 


been conducting themselves ; and Tom, to his huge 
delight, was praised, and got his remove into the lower- 
fourth, in which all his School-house friends were. 

On the next Tuesday morning, at four o’clock, hot 
coffee was going on in the housekeeper’s and matron’s 
rooms; boys wrapped in great coats and mufflers were 
swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, tumbling 
over luggage, and asking questions all at once of the 
matron ; outside the School-gates were drawn up several 
chaises and the four-horse coach which Tom’s party 
had chartered, the post-boys in their best jackets and 
breeches, and a cornopean player, hired for the occasion, 
blowing away “A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,” 
waking all peaceful inhabitants half-way down the High 
Street. 

Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased, 
porters staggered about with boxes and bags, the cor- 
nopean played louder. Old Thomas sat in his den with 
a great yellow bag by his side, out of which he was 
paying journey money to (iach boy, comparing by the 
light of a solitary dip the dirty crabbed little list in his 
own handwriting with the Doctor’s list, and the amount 
of his cash; his head was on one side, his mouth screwed 
up, and his spectacles dim from early toil. He had 
prudently locked the door, and carried on his operations 
solely through the window, or he would have been driven 
wild, and lost all his money. 

“Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the 
Highflyer at Dunchurch.” 

“ That’s your money, all light. Green.” 

“Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have two- 
pound-ten; you’ve only given me two pound.” — I fear 


156 


OFF. 


that Master Green is not confining himself strictly to 
truth. — Thomas turns his head more on one side than 
ever, and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced 
away from the window, 

“ Here, Thomas, never mind him, mine’s thirty shil- 
lings.” And mine too,” “ and mine,” shouted others. 

One way or another, the party to which Tom belonged 
all got packed and paid, and sallied out to the gates, 
the cornopean playing frantically “ Drops of Brandy,” 
in allusion, probably, to the slight potations in which 
the musician and post-boys had been already indulging. 
All luggage was carefully stowed away inside the coach 
and in the front and hind boots, so that not a hat-box 
was visible outside. Five or six small boys, with pea- 
shooters, and the cornopean player, got up behind; in 
front the big boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, 
but because they are now gentlemen at large — and this 
is the most correct public method of notifying the fact. 

"Kobinson’s coach will be down the road in a minute, 
it has gone up to Bird’s to pick up, — we’ll wait till 
they’re close, and make a race of it,” says the leader. 
**Now, boys, half-a-sovereign apiece if you beat ’em 
into Dunchurch by one hundred yards.” 

All right, sir,” shouted the grinning post-boys. 

Down comes Eobinson’s coach in a minute or two 
with a rival cornopean, and away go the two vehicles, 
horses galloping, boys cheering, horns playing loud. 
There is a special Providence over school-boys as well 
as sailors, or they must have upset twenty times in the 
first five miles ; sometimes actually abreast of one 
. another, and the boys on the i-oofs exchanging volleys of 
peas, now iieaiiy running over a post-chaise which had 


DULCE DOMUM. 


157 


started before them, now half-way up a bant, now with 
a wheel-and-a-half over a yawning ditch ; and all this 
in a dark morning, with nothing but their own lamps 
to guide them. However, it’s all over at last, and they 
have run over nothing but an old pig in Southam 
Street ; the last peas are distributed . in the Corn Market 
at Oxford, where they arrive between eleven and twelve, 
and sit down to a sumptuous breakfast at the Angel, 
which they are made to pay for accordingly. Here the 
party breaks up, all going now different ways ; and Tom 
orders out a chaise and pair as grand as a lord, though 
he has scarcely five shillings left in his pocket and more 
than twenty miles to get home. 

“ AVhere to, sir?” 

‘‘Eed Lion, Farringdon,” says Tom, giving ostler a 
shilling. 

“All right, sir. Red Lion, Jem,” to the post-boy, 
and Tom rattles away towards home. At Farringdon, 
being known to the innkeeper, he gets that worthy to 
pay for the Oxford horses, and forward him in another 
chaise at once; and so the gorgeous young gentleman 
arrives at the paternal mansion, and Sq^uire Frown 
looks rather blue at having to pay two-pound ten- 
shillings for the posting expenses from O.xford. But 
the boy’s intense joy at getting home, and the wonderful 
health he is in, and the good character he brings, and 
the brave stories he tells of Rugby, its doings and 
delights, soon mollify the Squire, and three happier 
people didn’t sit down to dinner that day in England 
(it is the boy’s first dinner at six o’clock at home, 
great promotion already), than the Squire and, his wife 
and Tom Brown at the end of his first haK-year at Rugby. 


158 


THE LOWER FOURTIL 


CHAPTER YIIL 

THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

** They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 

Rather than in silence shrink 
From the truth they needs must think : 

They are slaves wlio dare not be 
In the right with two or three.” 

Lowell, Stanzas on Freedom. 

IE lower - fourth 
form, in which Tom 
found himself at 
the beginning of 
the next half-year, 
was the largest 
form in the lower 
school, and num- 
bered upwards of 
forty boys. Young 
gentlemen of all 
ages from nine to 
fifteen, were to be 
found there, who 
expended such part 
of their energies 
as was devoted to 
Latin and Greek 
upon a book of 
Livy, the Bucolics of Yirgil, and the Hecuba of Euri- 
pides, which were- ground out in small daily portiona 



GREAT STUPID BOYS. 


159 


The driving of this unlucky lower-fourth must have 
been grievous work to the unfortunate master, for it 
was the most unhappily constituted of any in the 
school. Here stuck the great stupid boys, who for 
the life of them could never master the accidence; 
the objects alternately of mirth and terror to the 
youngsters, who were daily taking them up and 
laughing at them in lesson, and getting kicked by 
them for so doing in play-hours. There were no 
less than three unhappy fellows in tail coats, with in- 
cipient down on their chins, whom the Doctor and the 
master of the form were always endeavouring to hoist 
into the upper school, but whose parsing and construing 
resisted the most well-meant shoves. Then came the 
mass of the form, boys of eleven and twelve, the most 
mischievous and reckless age of British youth, of whom 
East and Tom Brown were fair specimens. As full 
of tricks as monkeys, and of excuses as Irish women, 
making fun of their master, one another, and their 
lessons, Argus himself would have been puzzled to keep 
an eye on them ; and as for making them steady or 
serious for half-an-hour together, it was simply hope- 
less. The remainder of the form consisted of young 
prodigies of nine and ten, who were going up the school 
at the rate of a form a half-year, all boys’ hands and 
wits being against them in their progress. It would 
have been one man’s work to see that the precocious 
youngsters had fair play ; and as the master had a good 
deal besides to do, they hadn’t, and were for ever being 
shoved down three or four places, their verses stolen, 
their books inked, their jackets whitened, and their lives 
otherwise made a burden to them. 


160 


tom’s fall. 


The lower-fourth, and all the forms below it, were 
heard in the great school, and were not trusted to pre- 
pare their lessons before coining in, but were whipped 
into school three-quarters of an hour before the lesson 
began by their respective masters, and there scattered 
about on the benches, with dictionary and grammar, 
hammered out their twenty lines of Virgil and Euripides 
in the midst of Babel. The masters of the lower school 
wall jd up and down the great school together during 
this three-quarters of an hour, or sat in their desks 
reading or looking over copies, and keeping such order 
as was possible. But the lower-fourth was just now 
an overgrown form, too large for any one man to attend 
to properly, and consequently the elysiuni or ideal form 
of the young scapegraces who formed the staple of it. 

Tom, as has been said, had come up from the third 
with a good character, but the temptations of the lower- 
fourth soon proved too strong for him, and he rapidly 
fell away ; and became as unmanageable as the rest. 
For some weeks, indeed, he succeeded in n^^’" taining 
the appearance of steadiness, and was looked upon 
favourably by his new master, whose eyes were first 
opened by the following little incident. 

Besides the desk which the master himself occupied, 
there was another large unoccupied desk in the corner 
of the great school, which was untenanted. To rush 
and seize upon this desk, which was ascended by three 
steps, and held four boys, was the great object of am- 
bition of the lower fourthers ; and the contentions for 
the occupation of it bred such disorder, that at last the 
master forbade its use altogether. This of course was 
a challenge to the more adventurous spirits to occupy 


MONTHLY EXAMINATIONS. 


161 


it, and as it was capacious enough for two boys to lie 
hid there completely, it was seldom that it remained 
empty, notwithstanding the veto. Small holes were 
cut in the front, through which the occupants watched 
the masters as they walked up and down, and as lesson 
time approached, one boy at a time stole out and down ' 
the steps, as the masters’ backs were turned, and min- 
gled with the general crowd on the forms below. Tom 
and East had successfully occupied the desk some half- 
dozen times, and were grown so reckless that they were 
in the habit of playing small games with fives’-balls 
inside when the masters were at the other end of the 
big school. One day, as ill-luck would have it, the 
game became more exciting than usual, and the ball 
slipped through East’s fingers, and rolled slowly down 
the steps, and out into the middle of the school, just as 
the masters turned in their walk and faced round upon 
the desk. The young delinquents watched their master 
through the look-out holes, march slowly down the 
school s^^aight upon their retreat, while all the boys in 
the neigh Dourhood of course stopped their work to look 
on : and not only were they ignominiously drawn out^ 
and caned over the hand then and there, but their 
characters for steadiness were gone from that time. 
However, as they only shared the fate of some three- 
fourths of the rest of the form, this did not weigh 
heavily upon them. 

In fact, the only occasions on which they cared about 
the matter were the monthly examinations, when the 
Doctor came round to examine their form, for one long 
awful hour, in the work which they had done in the 
preceding month. The second monthly examination 

M 


162 “TRTSTE LUPUS.” 

came round soon after Tom’s fall, and it was with 
anything but lively anticipations that he and the other 
lower-fourth boys came in to prayers on the morning 
of the examination day. 

Prayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as 
usual, and before they could get construes of a tithe of 
the hard passages marked in the margin of their books, 
they were all seated round, and the Doctor was stand- 
ing in the middle, talking in whispers to the master. 
Tom couldn’t hear a word which passed, and never 
lifted his eyes from his book ; but he knew by a sort 
of magnetic instinct that the Doctor’s under lip was 
coming out, and his eye beginning to burn, and his 
gown getting gathered up more and more tightly in 
his left hand. The suspense was agonizing, and Tom 
knew that he was sure on such occasions to make an 
example of the School-house boys. " If he would only 
begin,” thought Tom, “ I shouldn’t mind.” 

At last the whispering ceased, and the name which 
was called out was not Brown. He looked up for a 
moment, but the Doctor’s face was too awful ; Tom 
wouldn’t have met his eye for all he was worth, and 
buried himself in his book again. 

The boy who was called up first was a clever merry 
School-house boy, one of their set : he was some con- 
nection of the Doctor’s, and a great favourite, and ran 
in and out of his house as he liked, and so was selected 
for the first victim. 

“ Triste lupus, stabulis,” began the luckless youngster, 
and stammered through some eight or ten lines. 

“There, that will do,” said the Doctor; “now 
construe.” 


MISRULE AND ITS CAUSES. 


163 


On common occasions, the boy could have construed 
the passage well enough probably, but now his head 
was gone. 

“ Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf,” he began. 

A shudder ran through the whole form, and the 
Doctor’s wrath fairly boiled over ; he made three steps 
up to the construer, and gave him a good box on the 
ear. The blow was not a hard one, but the boy was so 
taken by surprise that he started back ; the form caught 
the back of his knees, and over he went on to the floor 
behind. There was a dead silence over the whole 
school ; never before, and never again while Tom was 
at school did the Doctor strike a boy in lesson. The 
provocation must have been great. However, the 
victim had saved his form for that occasion, for the 
Doctor turned to the top bench, and put on the best 
boys for the rest of the hour ; and though, at the end 
of the lesson, he gave them all such a rating as they 
did not forget, this terrible field-day passed over without 
any severe visitations in the shape of punishments or 
floggings. Forty young scapegraces expressed their 
thanks to the sorrowful wolf” in their difierent ways 
before second lesson. 

But a character for steadiness once gone is not easily 
recovered, as Tom found, and for years afterwards he 
went up to the school without it, and the masters’ hands 
were against him, and his against them. ^ And he 
regarded them, as a matter of course, as his natural 
enemies. Matters were not so comfortable either in the 
house as they had been, for Old Brooke left at Christ- 
mas, and one or two others of the sixth-form boys at 
the following Easter. Their rule had been rough, but 

M 2 


104 


THE OLD BOY MORALIZETH THEREON. 


strong and just in the main, and a higher standard was 
beginning to be set up ; in fact, there had been a short 
foretaste of the good time which followed some years 
later. Just now, however, all threatened to return into 
darkness and chaos again. For the new j)r0epostors 
were either small young hoys, whose cleverness had 
carried them up to the top of the school, while in 
strength of body and character they were not yet fit 
for a share in the government ; or else big fellows of 
the wrong sort, boys whose friendships and tastes had 
a downward tendency, who had not caught the meaning 
of their position and work, and felt none of its respon- 
sibilities. So under this no-government the School- 
house began to see bad times. The big fifth-form 
boys, who were a sporting and drinking set, soon began 
to usurp power, and to fag the little boys as if they 
were praepostors, and to bully and oppress any who 
showed signs of resistance. The bigger sort of sixth- 
form boys just described soon made common cause with 
the fifth, while the smaller sort, hampered by their 
colleagues’ desertion to the eremy, could not make head 
against them. So the fags were without their lawful 
masters and protectors, and ridden over rough- shod by 
a set of boys whom they were not bound to obey, and 
whose only right over them stood in their bodily 
powers ; and, as old Brooke had prophesied, the house 
by degrees broke up into small sets and parties, and 
lost the strong feeling of fellowship which he set so 
much store by, and with it much of the prowess in 
games and the lead in all school matters which he had 
done so much to keep up. 

In no place in the world has individual character 


THE SHOE BEGINS TO PINCH. 165 

more weight than at a public school. Eeni ember this, 
I beseech you, all you hoys who are getting into the 
upper forms. Now is the time in all your lives pro- 
bably when you may have more wide influence for good 
or evil on the society you live in than you ever can 
have again. Quit yourselves like men, then; speak up, 
and strike out if necessary for whatsoever is true, and 
manly, and lovely, and of good report ; never try to be 
popular, but only to do your duty and help others to do 
theirs, and you may leave the tone of feeling in the 
school higher than you found it, and so be doing good, 
which no living soul can measure, to generations of your 
countrymen yet unborn. For boys follow one another 
in herds like sheep, for good or evil ; they hate thinking, 
and have rarely any settled principles. Every school, 
indeed, has its own traditionary standard of right and 
wrong, which cannot be transgressed with impunity, 
marking certain things as low and blackguard, and 
certain others as lawful and right. This standard is 
ever varying, though it changes only slowly, and little 
by little ; and, subject only to such standard, it is the 
leading boys for the time being who give the tone to all 
the rest, and make the School either a noble institution 
for the training of Christian Englishmen, or a place where 
a young boy will get more evil than he would if he 
were turned out to make his way in London streets, or 
anything between these two extremes. 

The change for the worse in the School-house, how- 
ever, didn’t press very heavily on our youngsters for 
some time ; they were in a good bedroom, where slept 
the only praepostor left who was able to keep thorough 
Drder, and their study was in his passage ; so, though 


166 


BURSTING POINT. 


they were fagged more or less, and occasionally kicked 
or cuffed by the bullies, they were on the whole well 
off; and the fresh brave school-life, so full of games, 
adventures, and good fellowship, so ready at forgetting, 
so capacious at enjoying, so bright at forecasting, out- 
weighed a thousandfold their troubles with the master 
of their form, and the occasional ill-usage of the big 
boys in the house. It wasn’t till some year or so after 
the events recorded above, that the praepostor of their 
room and passage left. iTone of the other sixth-form 
boys would move into their passage, and, to the disgust 
and indignation of Tom and East, one morning after 
breakfast they were seized upon by Flashman, and made 
to carry down his books and furniture into the unoc- 
cupied study which he had taken. From this time they 
began to feel the weight of the tyranny of Flashman 
and his friends, and, now that trouble had come home 
to dieir own doors, began to look out for sympathizers 
and partners amongst the rest of the fags ; and meetings 
of the oppressed began to be held, and murmurs to arise, 
and plots to be laid as to how they should free them- 
selves and be avenged on their enemies. 

While matters were in this state. East and Tom 
were one evening sitting in their study. They had done 
their work for first lesson, and Tom was in a brown 
study, brooding, like a young William Tell, upon the 
wrongs of fags in general, and his own in particular. 

“I say. Scud,” said he at last, rousing himself to 
snuff the candle, “ what right have the fifth -form boys 
to fag us as they do ? ” 

‘‘ No more right than you have to fag them,’' 
answered East, without looking up from an’ early 


WHAT HELP? 


167 


number of Pickwick,” which was just coming out, and 
which he was luxuriously devouring, stretched on his 
back on the sofa. 

Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East went 
on reading and chuckling. The contrast of the boys’ 
faces would have given infinite amusement to a looker- 
on, the one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the 
other radiant and bubbling over with fun. 

“ Do you know, old fellow, I’ve been thinking it over 
a good deal,” began Tom again. 

Oh yes, I know, fagging you are thinking of. Hang 
it all, — but listen here, Tom — here’s fun. Mr. Winkle’s 
horse ” 

“ And I’ve made up my mind,” broke in Tom, “ that 
I won’t fag except for the sixth.” 

Quite right too, my boy,” cried East, putting his 
finger on the place and looking up ; “ but a pretty 
peck of troubles you’ll get into, if you’re going to play 
that game. However, I’m all for a strike myself, if we 
can get others to join — it’s getting too bad.” 

“Can’t we get some sixth-form fellow to take it 
up ? ” asked Tom. 

“ Well, perhaps we might ; Morgan would interfere, 
I think. Only,” added East, after a moment’s pause, 
“ you see we should have to tell him about it, and that’s 
against School principles. Don’t you remember what 
Old Brooke said about learning to take our own parts ?” 

Ah, I wish Old Brooke were back again — it was all 
right in his time.” 

“ Why yes, you see then the strongest and best fellows 
were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fellows were afraid 
of them, and they kept good order ; but now our sixth- 


168 


THE EXPLOSION. 


form fellows are too small, and the fifth don’t care for 
them, and do what they like in the house.” 

And so we get a double set of masters,” cried Tom, 
indignantly ; “the lawful ones, who are responsible to 
the Doctor at any rate., and the unlawful — the tyrants, 
who are responsible to nobody.” 

“ Down with the tyrants I ” cried East ; “ I’m all for 
law and order, and hurra for a revolution.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind if it were only for young Brooke 
now,” said Tom, ‘'he’s such a good-hearted, gentle- 
manly fellow, and ought to he in the sixth — I’d do 
anything for him. But that blackguard Elashman, 
who never speaks to one without a kick or an oath — ” 

“The cowardly brute,” broke in East, “how I hate 
him ! And he knows it too ; he knows that you and I 
think him a coward. What a bore that he’s got a study 
in this passage ! don’t you hear them now at supper in 
his den ? Brandy punch going. I’ll bet. I wish the 
Doctor would come out and catch him. We must 
change our study as soon as we can.” 

“ Change or no change. I’ll never fag for him again,” 
said Tom, thumping the table. 

“ Ea-a-a-ag ! ” sounded along the passage from 
Elashman’s study. The two boys looked at one another 
in silence. It had struck nine, so the regular night- 
fags had left duty, and they were the nearest to the 
supper party. East sat up and began to look comical, as 
he always did under difficulties. 

“ Fa-a-a-ag !” again. No answer. 

“Here, Brown! East! you cursed young skulks,” 
roared out Flashman, coming to his open door, “ I 
know you’re in — no shirking.” 


THE SIEGE. 


169 


Tom stole to their door, and drew the holts as noise- 
lessly as he could ; East blew out the candle. Barri- 
cade the first,” whispered he. ‘‘Now, Tom, mind, no 
surrender.” 

“ Trust me for that,” said Tom between his teeth. 

In another minute they heard the supper-party turn 
out and come down the passage to their door. They 
held their breaths, and heard whispering, of which they 
only made out Elashman’s words, “ I know the young 
brutes are in.” 

Then came summonses to open, which being un- 
answered, the assault commenced : luckily the door was 
a good strong oak one, and resisted the united weight 
of Elashman’s party. A pause followed, and they heard 
a besieger remark, “They’re in, safe enough — don’t you 
see how the door holds at top and bottom ? so the bolts 
must be drawn. We should have forced the lock 
long ago.” East gave Tom a nudge, to call attention to 
this scientific remark. 

Then came attacks on particular panels, one of which 
at last gave way to the repeated kicks ; but it broke 
inwards, and the broken piece got jammed across, the 
door being lined with green-baize, and couldn’t easily 
be removed from outside ; and the besieged, scorning 
further concealment, strengthened their defences by 
pressing the end of their sofa against the door. So 
after one or two more ineffectual efforts, Elashman and 
Co. retired, vowing vengeance in no mild terms. 

The first danger over, it only remained for the 
besieged to effect a safe retreat, as it was now near bed- 
time. They listened intently, and heard the supper- 
party resettle themselves, and then gently drew back 


170 


WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 


first one bolt and tlien tlie other. Presently the 
convivial noises began again steadily. “ Now then, 
stand by for a run,” said East, throwing the door wide 
open and rushing into the passage, closely followed by 
Tom. They were too quick to be caught ; but Elashman 
was on the look-out, and sent an empty pickle-jar 
whizzing after them, which narrowly missed Tom’s 
head, and broke into twenty pieces at the end of the 
passage. ‘"He wouldn’t mind killing one if he wasn’t 
caught,” said East, as they turned the corner. 

There was no pursuit, so the two turned into the Hall, 
vvhere they found a knot of small boys round the fire. 
Their story was told — the war of independence had 
broken out, — who would join the revolutionary forces ? 
Several others present bound themselves not to fag for 
the fifth-form at once. One or two only edged ofl', and 
left the rebels. What else could they do ? "" I’ve a 
good mind to go to the Doctor straight,” said Tom. 

“That’ll never do — don’t you remember the levy of 
the School last half ? ” put in another. 

In fact, that solemn assembly, a levy of the School, 
had been held, at which the captain of the School had 
got up, and, after premising that several instances had 
occurred of matters having been reported to the masters, 
that this was against public morality and School tradi- 
tion; that a levy of the sixth had been held on the 
subject, and they had resolved that the practice must be 
stopped at once ; had given out that any boy, in what- 
ever form, who should thenceforth appeal to a master, 
without having first gone to some prsepostor and laid 
the case before him, should be thrashed publicly, and 
sent to Coventry. 


A COUNSELLOR OF THE REBELS. 


171 


*•' V\ ell, then, let’s try the sixth. Try Morgan,” 
suggested another. “No use” — “Blabbing won’t do,” 
was the general feeling. 

“ I’ll give you fellows a piece of advice,” said a voice 
from the end of the Hall. They all turned round with 
a start, and the speaker got up from a bench on 
which he had been lying unobserved, and gave himseli 
a shake; he was a big loose-made fellow, with huge 
limbs which had grown too far through his jacket and 
trousers. “ Don’t you go to anybody at all — you just 
stand out ; say you won’t fag — they’ll soon get tired ot 
licking you. I’ve tried it on years ago with their fore- 
runners.” 

“ No ! did you ? tell us how it was,” cried a chorus 
of voices, as they clustered round him. 

“ Well, just as it is with you. The fifth-form would 
fag us, and I and some more struck, and we beat ’em. 
The good fellows left off directly, and the bullies who 
kept on soon got afraid.” 

“ Was Flashman here then ? ” 

“ Yes I and a dirty little snivelling, sneaking fellow 
he was too. He never dared join us, and used to toady 
the bullies by offering to fag for them, and peaching 
against the rest of us.” 

“ Why wasn’t he cut then ? ” said East. 

“ Oh, toadies never get cut, they’re too useful. 
Besides, he has no end of great hampers from home, 
with wine and game in them ; so he toadied and fed 
himself into favour.” 

The quarter-to-ten bell now rang, and the small 
boys went off up-stairs, still consulting together, and 
praising their new counsellor, who stretched himself out 


172 


"THE MUCKER.’ 


on the bench before the Hall fire again. There he lay, 
a very queer specimen of boyhood, by name Higgs, and 
familiarly called “ the Mucker.” He was young for his 
size, and a very clever fellow, nearly at the top of the 
fifth. His friends at home, having regard, I suppose, 
to his age, and not to his size and place in the school, 
hadn’t put him into tails ; and even his jackets were 
always too small ; and he had a talent for destroying 
clothes, and making himself look shabby. He wasn’t 
on terms with Flashman’s set, who sneered at his dress 
and ways behind his back, which he knew, and revenged 
himself by asking Flashman the most disagreeable ques- 
tions, and treating him familiarly whenever a crowd of 
boys were round them. ISTeither was he intimate with 
any of the other bigger boys, who were warned off by 
his oddnesses, for he was a very queer fellow ; besides^ 
amongst other failings, he had that of impecuniosity 
in a remarkable degree. He brought as much money as 
other boys to school, but got rid of it in no time, no 
one knew how. And then, being also reckless, 
borrowed from anyone, and when his debts accumulated 
and creditors pressed, would have an auction in the 
Hall of everything he possessed in the world, selling 
even his school-books, candlestick, and study table. 
For weeks after one of these auctions, having rendered 
his study uninhabitable, he would live about in the 
fifth-form room and Hall, doing his verses on old letter- 
backs and odd scraps of paper, and learning his lessons 
no one knew how. He never meddled with any little 
boy, and was popular with them, though they all looked 
on him with a sort of compassion, and called him " poor 
Higgs,” not being able to resist appearances, or to 


THE WAR RAGES. 


173 


disregard wholly even the sneers of their enemy Flash- 
man. However, he seemed equally indifferent to the 
sneers of big boys and the pity of small ones, and lived 
his own queer life with much apparent enjoyment to 
himself. It is necessary to introduce Diggs thus par- 
ticularly, as he not only did Tom and East good service 
in their present warfare, as is about to be told, but 
soon afterwards, when he got into the sixth, chose them 
for his fags, and excused them from study-fagging, 
thereby earning unto himself eternal gratitude from 
them, and all who are interested in their history. 

And seldom had small boys more need of a friend, 
for the morning after the siege the storm burst upon 
the rebels in all its violence. Flash man laid wait, and 
caught Tom before second lesson, and receiving a point 
blank Ho,” when told to fetch his hat, seized him and 
twisted his arm, and went through the other methods 
of torture in use : — “ He couldn’t make me cry though,” 
as Tom said triumphantly to the rest of the rebels, “ and 
I kicked his shins well, I know.” And soon it crept 
out that a lot of the fags were in league, and Flashman 
excited his associates to join him in bringing the young 
vagabonds to their senses ; and the house was filled 
witli constant chasings, and sieges, and lickings of all 
sorts ; and in return, the bullies’ beds were pulled to 
pieces, and drenched with water, and their names written 
up on the walls with every insulting epithet which the 
fag invention could furnish. The war in short raged 
fiercely; but soon, as Diggs had told them, all the 
better fellows in the fifth gave up trying to fag them, 
and public feeling began to set against Flashman and 
his two or three intimates, and they were obliged to 


174 


THE LAST COMBATANTS. 


keep their doings more secret, but being thorough bad 
fellows, missed no opportunity of torturing in private. 
Flashman was an adept in all ways, but above all in the 
power of saying cutting and cruel things, and could often 
bring tears to the eyes of boys in this way, which all the 
thrashings in the world wouldn’t have wrung from them. 

And as his operations were being cut short in other 
directions, he now devoted himself chiefly to Tom and 
East, who lived at his own door, and would force him- 
self into their study whenever he found a chance, and 
sit there, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion, 
interrupting all their work, and exulting in the evident 
pain which every now and then he could see he was 
inflicting on one or the other. 

The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the house, 
and a better state of things now began than there had 
been since Old Brooke had left : but an angry dark spot 
of thunder-cloud still hung over the end of the passage, 
where Flashman’s study and that of East and Tom lay. 

He felt that they had been the first rebels, and that 
the rebellion had been to a great extent successful ; but 
what above all stirred the hatred and bitterness of his 
heart against them, was that in the frequent collisions 
which there had been of late, they had openly called 
him coward and sneak, — the taunts were too true to be 
forgiven. While he was in the act of thrashing them, 
they would roar out instances of his funking at foot- 
ball, or shirking some encounter with a lout of half his 
own size. These things were all well enough known 
in the house, but to have his disgrace shouted out by 
small boys, to feel that they despised him, to be unable 
to silence them by any amount of torture, and to see 


THE WEAK TO THE WALL. 


175 


ilie open laugh and sneer of his own associates (who 
were looking on and took no trouble to hide their scorn 
from him, though they neither interfered with his bully- 
ing or lived a bit the less intimately with him,) made 
him beside himself. Come what might he would make 
those boys’ lives miserable. So the strife settled down 
into a personal affair between Flash man and our young- 
sters ; a war to the knife, to be fought out in the little 
cockpit at the end of the bottom passage. 

Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, 
and big and strong of his age. He played well at all 
games where pluck w^asn’t much wanted, and managed 
generally to keep up appearances whei-e it was; and 
having a bluff off-hand manner, which passed for hearti- 
ness, and considerable powers of being pleasant when 
he liked, went down with the School in general for a 
good fellow enough. Even in the School-house, by 
dint of his command of money, the constant supply of 
good things which he kept up, and his adroit toadyism, 
he had managed to make himself not only tolerated, 
but rather popular amongst his own contemporaries; 
although young Brooke scarcely spoke to him, and one 
or two others of the right sort showed their opinions 
of him whenever a chance offered. But the wrong sort 
happened to be in the ascendant just now, so Flashman 
was a formidable enemy for small boys. This soon 
became plain enough. Flashman left no slander un- 
spoken, and no deed undone, which could in any way 
hurt his victims, or isolate them from the rest of the 
house. One by one most of the other rebels fell away 
from them, while Flashman’s cause prospered, and 
several other fifth-form boys began to look black at 


176 


DIGGS' BANKRUPTCY. 


them and ill-treat them as they passed about the house. 
By keeping out of bounds, or at all events out of the 
house and quadrangle, ail day, and carefully barring 
themselves in at night. East and Tom managed to hold 
on without feeling very miserable ; but it was as much 
as they could do. Greatly were they drawn then towards 
old Biggs, who, in an uncouth way, began to take a good 
deal of notice of them, and once or twice came to their 
study when Flashinan was there, who immediately 
decamped in consequence. The boys thought that 
Biggs must have been watching. 

When therefore, about this time, an auction was one 
night announced to take place in the Hall, at which, 
amongst the superfluities of other boys, all Biggs’ Penates 
for the time being were going to the hammer. East 
and Tom laid their heads together, and resolved to 
devote their ready cash (some four shillings sterling) 
to redeem such articles as that sum would cover. 
Accordingly, they duly attended to bid, and Tom 
became the owner of two lots of Biggs’ things ; — lot 1, 
price one-and-threepence, consisting (as the auctioneer 
remarked) of a valuable assortment of old metals,” in 
the shape of a mouse-trap, a cheese-toaster without a 
handle, and a saucepan: lot 2, of a villanous dirty 
table-cloth and a green-baize curtain ; w^hile East for 
one-and-sixpence purchased a leather paper-case, with 
a lock but no key, once handsome, but now much the 
worse for wear. But they had still the point to settle 
of how to get Biggs to take the things without hurting 
his feelings. This they solved by leaving them in his 
study, which was never locked when he was out. Biggs, 
who had attended the auction, remembered who had 


THE DERBY LOTTERY. 


177 


bought the lots, and came to their study soon after, and 
sat silent for some time, cracking his great red finger- 
joints. Then he laid hold of their verses, and began 
looking over and altering them, and at last got up, and 
turning his back to them, said, ‘‘ YouTe uncommon 
good-hearted little beggars, you two — I value that 
paper-case ; my sister gave it me last holidays — I won't 
forget and so tumbled out into the passage, leaving 
them somewhat embarrassed, but not sorry that he 
knew what they had done. 

The next morning was Saturday, the day on which 
the allowances of one shilling a-week were paid, an im- 
portant event to spendthrift youngsters ; and great was 
the disgust amongst the small fry to hear that all the 
allowances had been impounded for the Derby lottery. 
That great event in the English year, the Derby, was 
celebrated at Eugby in those days by many lotteries- 
It was not an improving custom, I own, gentle reader, 
and led to making books and betting and other objec- 
tionable results ; but when our great Houses of Palaver 
think it right to stop the nation’s business on that day, 
and many of the members bet heavily themselves, can 
you blame us boys for following the example of our 
betters? — at any rate we did follow it. Eirst there 
was the great School lottery, where the first prize was 
six or seven pounds ; then each House had one or more 
separate lotteries. These were all nominally voluntary, 
no boy being compelled to put in his shilling who didn’t 
choose to do so : but besides Elashman, there were three 
or four other fast sporting young gentlemen in the 
School-house, who considered subscription a matter of 
duty and necessity, and so, to make their duty come 

N 


178 


GENTLEMEN SPORTSMEIT. 


easy to the small boys, quietly secured the allowances in 
a lump when given out for distribution, and kept them. 
It was no use grumbling, — so many fewer tartlets and 
apples were eaten and fives’-balls bought on that Satur- 
day; and after locking-up, when the money would 
otherwise have been spent, consolation was carried 
to many a small boy, by the sound of the night-fags 
shouting along the passages, Gentlemen sportsmen of 
the School-house, the lottery’s going to be drawn in the 
Hall.” It was pleasant to be called a gentleman sports 
man — also to have a chance of drawing a favourite 
horse. 

The Hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of 
the long tables stood the sporting interest, with a hat 
before them, in which were the tickets folded up. One 
of them then began calling out the list of the House ; 
each boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the 
hat and opened it; and most of the bigger boys, after 
drawing, left the Hall directly to go back to their studies 
or the fifth-form room. The sporting interest had all 
drawn blanks, and they were sulky accordingly ; neither 
of the favourites had yet been drawn, and it had come 
down to the upper-fourth. So now, as each small boy 
came up and drew his ticket, it was seized and opened 
by Flashman, or some other of the standers-by. But no 
great favourite is drawn until it comes to the Tadpole’s 
turn, and he shuffles up and draws, and tries to make 
off, but is caught, and his ticket is opened like the rest. 

“ Here you are ! Wanderer ! the third favourite,” 
shouts the opener. 

‘‘ I say, just give me my ticket, please,” remonstrates 
Tadpole. 


TOM DRAWS THE FAVOURITE. 179 

Hullo, don’t be in a hurry,” breaks in Flashman ; 
“ what’ll you sell Wanderer for, now ?” 

“I don’t want to sell,” rejoins Tadpole. 

Oh, don’t you ! Now listen, you young fool — ^you 
don’t know anything about it ; the horse is no use to 
you. He won’t win, but I want him as a hedge. Now 
I’ll give you half-a-crown for him.” Tadpole holds out, 
but between threats and cajoleries at length sells half 
for one-shilling-and-sixpence, about a fifth of its fair 
market value ; however, he is glad to realize anything, 
and as he wisely remarks, “ Wanderer mayn’t win, and 
the tizzy is safe anyhow.” 

East presently comes up and draws a blank. Soon 
after comes Tom’s turn; his ticket, like the others, is 
seized and opened. Here you are then,” shouts the 
opener, holding it up, “ Harkaway ! By Jove, Elashey, 
your young friend’s in luck.” 

Give me the ticket,” says Flashman with an oath, 
leaning across the table with open hand, and his face 
black with rage. 

“ Wouldn’t you like it ? ” replies the opener, not a 
bad fellow at the bottom, and no admirer of Flashman’s. 

Here, Brown, catch hold,” and he hands the ticket to 
Tom, who pockets it ; whereupon Flashman makes for 
the door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not 
escape, and there keeps watch until the drawing is over 
and all the boys are gone, except the sporting set of 
five or six, who stay to compare books, make bets and 
so on, Tom, who doesn’t choose to move while Flash- 
man is at the door, and East, who staj s by his friend, 
anticipating trouble. 

The sporting set now gathered round Tom. Public 

N 2 


180 


CONSEQUENCES. 


opinion wonldn’t allow them actually to roh him of his 
ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by which he 
could be driven to sell the whole or part at an under 
value was lawful. 

“blow, young Brown, come, what’ll you sell me 
Harkaway for? I hear he isn’t going to start. I’ll 
give you five shillings for him,” begins the boy who had 
opened the ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, 
and moreover in his forlorn state wishing to make a 
friend, is about to accept the offer, when another cries 
out, “ I’ll give you seven shillings.” Tom hesitated, 
and looked from one to the other. 

“ No, no ! ” said Flashman, pushing in, leave me 
to deal with him; we’ll draw lots for it afterwards. 
Now, sir, you know me — you’ll sell Harkaway to us for 
five shillings, or you’ll repent it.” 

** I won’t sell a bit of him,” answered Tom, shortly. 

“You hear that now !” said Flashman, turning to the 
others. “He’s the coxiest young blackguard in the 
house — I always told you so. We’re to have all the 
trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries for the 
benefit of such fellows as he.” 

Flashman forgets to explain what risk they ran, but 
he speaks to willing ears. Gambling makes boys selfish 
and cruel as well as men. 

“That’s true, — we always draw blanks,” cried one. 
“ Now, sir, you shall sell half, at any rate.” 

“I won’t,” said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and 
lumping them all in his mind with his sworn enemy. 

“Very well then, let’s roast him,” cried Flashman, 
and catches hold of Tom by the collar : one or two boys 
hesitate, but the rest join in. East seizes Tom’s arm 


ROASTING A FAG. 


181 


and tries to pull him away, but is knocked back by one 
of the boys, and Tom is dragged along, struggling. 
His shoulders are puslied against the mantelpiece, and 
he is held by main force before the fire, Flashman draw- 
ing his trousers tight by way of extra torture. Poor 
East, in more pain even than Tom, suddenly thinks of 
Diggs, and darts off to find him. “ Will you sell him 
for ten shillings ? ” says one boy who is relenting. 

Tom only answers by groans and struggles. 

‘‘ I say, Flashey, he has had enough,” says the same 
boy, dropping the arm he holds. 

“ No, no ; another turn’ll do it,” answers Flashman. 
But poor Tom is done already, turns deadly pale, and his 
head falls forward on his breast, just as Diggs, in frantic 
excitement, rushes into the Hall with East at his heels. 

“ You cowardly brutes ! ” is all he can say, as he 
catches Tom from them and supports him to the Hall 
table. ‘‘ Good God ! he’s dying. Here, get some cold 
water — run for the housekeeper.” 

Flashman and one or two others slink away ; the 
rest, ashamed and sorry, bend over Tom or run for 
water, while East darts off for the housekeeper. Water 
comes, and they throw it on his hands and face, and 
he begins to cpme to. “ Mother ! ” — the words came 
feebly and slowly — “ it’s very cold to-night” Poor old 
Diggs is blubbering like a child. Where am I ? ” goes 
on Tom, opening his eyes. “Ah! I remember now,” 
and he shut his eyes again and groaned. 

“ I say,” is whispered, “ we can’t do any good, and 
the housekeeper will be here in a minute,” and all but 
one steal away ; he stays with Diggs, silent and sorrow- 
ful, and fans Tom’s face. 


182 


LAST DAYS OF THE WAK. 


The housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and 
Tom soon recovers enough to sit np. There is a smell 
of burning; she examines his clothes, and looks up 
inquiringly. The boys are silent. 

“ How did he come so ? ” No answer. 

** There's been some bad work here," she adds, looking 
very serious, “and I shall speak to the Doctor about 
it." Still no answer. 

“ Hadn't we better carry him to the sick-room ? ” 
suggests Diggs. 

“ Oh, I can walk now,” says Tom ; and, supported 
by East and the housekeeper, goes to the sick-room. 
The boy who held his ground is soon amongst the rest, 
who are all in fear of their lives. “ Did he peach ? ” 
“ Does she know about it ? ” 

“Not a word — he's a stanch little fellow.” And 
pausing a moment he adds, “ I'm sick of this work : 
what brutes we’ve been ! " 

Meantime Tom is stretched on the sofa in the house- 
keeper’s room, with East by his side, while she gets 
wine and water and other restoratives. 

“ Are you much hurt, dear old boy ? ” whispers East. 

“Only the back of my legs,” answers Tom. They 
are indeed badly scorched, and part of his trousers burnt 
through. But soon he is in bed with cold bandages. 
At first he feels broken, and thinks of writing home and 
getting taken away ; and the verse of a hymn he had 
learned years ago sings through his head, and he goes 
to sleep, murmuring — 

** Where the wicked cease from troubling. 

And the weary are at rest.” 

But after a sound night's rest the old boy-spirit 


TOM DISCLOSES NOTHING. 


183 


comes back again. East comes in reporting that the 
whole House is with him, and he forgets everything 
except their old resolve, never to be beaten by that 
bully Elashman. 

Hot a word could the housekeeper extract from either 
of them, and though the Doctor knew all that she knew 
that morning, he never knew any more. 

I trust and believe that such scenes are not possible 
now at school, and that lotteries and betting-books have 
gone, out ; but I am writing of schools as they were in 
our time, and must give the evil with the good. 


184 


TOM WINS THE SECOND PRIZE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS. 

“ Wherein I [speak] of most disastrous chances. 
Of mo\ing accidents by flood and field, 

Of hairbreadth 'scapes.”— Shakspeare. 


HEN Tom came 
back into school 
after a couple of 
days in the sick- 
room, he found 
matters much 
changed for the 
better, as East 
had led him to 
expect. Flash- 
man’s brutality 
had disgusted 
most even of his 
intimate friends, 
and his cowar- 
dice had once 
more been made 
plain to the 
House ; for Diggs had encountered him on the 
morning after the lottery, and after high words on 



EULE BEEAKING. 


185 


both sides had struck him, and the blow was not 
returned. However, Flashey was not unused to this 
sort of thing, and had lived through as awkward affairs 
before, and, as Diggs had said, fed and toadied himself 
back into favour again. Two or three of the boys who 
had helped to roast Tom came up and begged his pardon, 
and thanked him for not telling anything. Morgan 
sent for him, and was inclined to take the matter up 
warmly, but Tom begged him not to do it ; to which he 
agreed, on Tom’s promising to come to him at once in 
future — a promise which I regret to say he didn’t 
keep. Tom kept Harkaway all to himself, and won 
the second prize in the lottery, some thirty shillings, 
which he and East contrived to spend in about three 
days, in the purchase of pictures for their study, two 
new bats and a cricket-ball, all the best that could 
be got, and a supper of sausages, kidneys, and beef- 
steak pies to all the rebels. Light come, light go ; they 
wouldn’t have been comfortable with money in their 
pockets in the middle of the half. 

The embers of Elashman’s wrath, however, were still 
smouldering, and burst out every now and then in sly 
blows and taunts, and they both felt that they hadn’t 
quite done with him yet. It wasn’t long, however, 
before the last act of that drama came, and with it, the 
end of bullying for Tom and East at Eugby. They 
now often stole out into the Hall at nights, incited 
thereto, partly by the hope of finding Diggs there and 
having a talk with him, partly by the excitement of 
doing something which was against rules ; for, sad to 
say, both of our youngsters, since their loss of character 
for steadiness in their form, had got into the habit of 


186 


RULE BREAKING. 


doing things which were forbidden, as a matter of 
adventure ; just in the same way, I should fancy, as 
men fall into smuggling, and for the same sort ot 
reasons. Thoughtlessness in the first place. It never 
occurred to them to consider why such and such rules 
were laid down ; the reason was nothing to them ; and 
they only looked upon rules as a sort of challenge 
from the rule-makers, which it would be rather bad 
pluck in them not to accept ; and then again, in the 
lower parts of the school they hadn’t enough to do. 
The work of the form they could manage to get through 
pretty easily, keeping a good enough place to get their 
regular yearly remove ; and not having much ambition 
beyond this, their whole superfluous steam was available 
for games and scrapes. Now, one rule of the House 
which it was a daily pleasure of all such boys to break, 
was that after supper all fags, except the three on duty 
in the passages, should remain in their own studies 
until nine o’clock ; and if caught about the passages or 
Hall, or in one another’s studies, they were liable to 
punishments or caning. The rule was stricter than its 
observance ; for most of the sixth spent their evenings 
in the fifth-form room, where the library was, and the 
lessons were learnt in common. Every now and then, 
however, a praepostor would be seized with a fit of dis- 
trict visiting, and would make a tour of the passages 
and Hall and the fags’ studies. Then, if the owner 
were entertaining a friend or two, the first kick at the 
door and ominous Open here,” had the effect of the 
shadow of a hawk over a chicken-yard ; every one cut 
to cover — one small boy diving under the sofa, another 
under the table, while the owner would hastily pull 


THE BRUISED WORM WILL TURN. 187 

down a book or two and open them, and cry out in a 
meek voice, Hullo, who’s there ? ” casting an anxious 
eye round to see that no protruding leg or elbow could 
betray the hidden boys. “ Open, sir, directly ; it’s 
Snooks.” “ Oh, I’m very sorry ; I didn’t know it was 
you, Snooks ; ” and then, with well-feigned zeal, the 
door would be opened, young hopeful praying that that 
beast Snooks mightn’t have heard the scuffle caused by 
his coming. If a study was empty, Snooks proceeded 
to draw the passages and Hall to find the truants. 

Well, one evening, in 'forbidden hours, Tom and 
East were in the Hall. They occupied the seats before 
the fire nearest the door, while Diggs sprawled as usual 
before the further fire. He was busy with a copy of 
verses, and East and Tom were chatting together in 
whispers by the light of the fire, and splicing a 
favourite old fives’-bat which had sprung. Presently 
a step came down the bottom passage ; they listened a 
moment, assured themselves that it wasn’t a praepostor, 
and then went on with their work, and the door swung 
open, and in walked El ashman. He didn’t see Diggs, 
and thought it a good chance to keep his hand in ; and 
as the boys didn’t move for him, struck one of them, to 
make them get out of his way. 

What’s that for ? ” growled the assaulted one. 

“ Because I choose. You’ve no business here ; go 
to your study.” 

" You can’t send us.^’ 

" Can’t I ? Then I’ll thrash you if you stay,” said 
Elashman, savagely. 

" I say, you two,” said Diggs, from the end of the 
Hall, rousing up and resting himself on his elbow. 


188 ACCOUNTS SQUARED WITH FLASHMAN. 

you’ll never get rid of that fellow till you lick him. 
Go in at him, both of you — I’ll see fair play.” 

riashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. 
East looked at Tom. “ Shall we try ? ” said he. 
“ Yes,” said Tom, desperately. So the two advanced 
on Elashman, with clenched fists and beating hearts. 
They were about up to his shoulder, but tough boys 
of their age, and in perfect training : while he, though 
strong and big, was in poor condition, from his mon- 
strous habits of stuffing and want of exercise. Coward 
as he was, however, Elashman couldn’t swallow such an 
insult as this ; besides, he was confident of having easy 
work, and so faced the boys, saying, “ You impudent 
young blackguards 1 ” — Before he could finish his 
abuse, they rushed in on him, and began pummelHng 
at all of him which they could reach. He hit out 
wildly and savagely, but the full force of his blows 
didn’t tell, the}^ were too near him. It was long odds, 
though, in point of strength, and in another minute 
Tom went spinning backwards over a form, and Elash- 
man turned to demolish East, with a savage grin. But 
now Diggs jumped down from the table on which he 
had seated himself. Stop there,” shouted he ; “ the 
round’s over — half-minute time allowed.” 

What the is it to you ? ” faltered Elashman, who 

began to lose heart. 

“ I’m going to see fair, I tell you,” said Diggs with 
a grin, and snapping his great red fingers ; “ ’tain’t fair 
for you to be fighting one of them at a time. Are you 
ready. Brown ? Time’s up.” 

The small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw 
was their best chance, and Elashman was wilder and 


ACCOUNTS SQUARED WITH FLASHMAN. 189 

more flurried than ever : he caught East by the throat, 
and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table ; 
Tom grasped his waist, and, remembering the old 
throw he had learned in the Vale from Harry Winburn, 
crooked his leg inside Flashman’s, and threw his whole 
weight forward. The three tottered for a moment, and 
then over they went on to the floor, Elashman striking 
his head against a form in the Hall. 

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay 
there still. They began to be frightened. Tom stooped 
down, and then cried out, scared out of his wits. “ He’s 
bleeding awfully ; come here. East, Diggs, — he’s dying ! ” 

‘‘Not he,” said Diggs, getting leisurely off the 
table ; “ it’s all sham — he’s only afraid to fight it out.” 

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Elash- 
man’s head, and he groaned. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” shouted Diggs. 

“ My skull’s fractured,” sobbed Elashman. 

“ Oh, let me run for the housekeeper,” cried Tom. 
“ What shall we do ? ” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! it’s nothing but the skin broken,” 
said the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. “ Cold 
water and a bit of rag’s all he’ll want.’* 

“ Let me go,” said Elashman, surlily, sitting up ; 
" I don’t want your help.” 

“ We’re really very sorry,” began East. 

“ Hang your sorrow,” answered Elashman, holding 
his handkerchief to the place ; “ you shall pay for this, 
I can tell you, both of you.” And he walked out of 
the Hall. * 

“ He can’t be very bad,” said Tom with a deep sigh, 
much relieved to see his enemy march so well. 


190 


PENALTIES OF WAR. 


“I^ot he,” said Diggs, “and you’ll see you won’t be 
troubled with him any more. But, I say, your head’s 
broken too — your collar is covered with blood.” 

“ Is it, though ? ” said Tom, putting up his hand ; 
“ I didn’t know it.” 

“ Well, mop it up, or you’ll have your jacket spoilt. 
And you have got a nasty eye. Scud ; you’d better go 
and bathe it well in cold water.” 

“ Cheap enough too, if we’ve done with our old 
friend Flash ey,” said East, as they made off up stairs to 
bathe their wounds. 

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he 
never laid finger on either of them again ; but what- 
ever harm a spiteful heart and venomous tongue could 
do them he took care should be done. Only throw 
dirt enough, and some of it is sure to stick ; and so it 
was with the fifth form and the bigger boys in general, 
with whom he associated more or less, and they not at 
all. Flashman managed to get Tom and East into dis- 
favour, which did not wear off for some time after 
the author of it had disappeared from the School world. 
This event, much prayed for by the small fry in general, 
took place a few months after the above encounter. 
One fine summer evening Flashman had been regaling 
himself on gin-punch, at Brownsover ; and having ex- 
ceeded his usual limits, started home uproarious. He 
fell in with a friend or two coming back from bathing, 
proposed a glass of beer, to which they assented, the 
weather being hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware 
of the quantity of drink which Flashman had already 
on board. The short result was, that Flashey became 
beastly drunk ; the'’ ‘tried to get him along, but couldn’t ; 


FATE OF LIBERATORS. 


191 


SO they chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. 
One of the masters came upon them, and they naturally 
enough fled. The flight of the rest raised the master’s 
suspicions, and the good angel of the fags incited him 
to examine the freight, and, after examination, to 
convoy the hurdle himself up to the School-house ; and 
the Doctor, who had long had his eye on Flashman, 
arranged for his withdrawal next morning. 

The evil that men, and boys too, do, lives after them : 
Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hinted above, still 
felt the effects of his hate. Besides, they had been the 
movers of the strike against unlawful fagging. The 
cause was righteous — the result had been triumphant 
to a great extent ; but the best of the fifth, even those 
who had never fagged the small boys, or had given up 
the practice cheerfully, couldn’t help feeling a small 
grudge against the first rebels. After all, their form 
had been defied— on just grounds, no doubt ; so just, 
indeed, that they had at once acknowledged the wrong 
and remained passive in the strife : had they sided with 
Flashman and his set, the rebels must have given way 
at once. They couldn’t help, on the whole, being glad 
that they had so acted, and that the resistance had been 
successful against such of their own form as had shown 
fight ; they felt that law and order had gained thereby, 
but the ringleaders they couldn’t quite pardon at once. 
‘‘Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get, if 
we don’t mind,” was the general feeling. 

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the 
Angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and 
head a successful rise against the most abominable and 
unrighteous vested interest, which this poor old world 


192 


FATE OF LIBEEATORS. 


groans under, he would most certainly lose his character 
for many years, probably for centuries, not only with 
upholders of said vested interest, but with the respect- 
able mass of the people whom he had delivered. They 
wouldn’t ask him to dinner, or let their names appear 
with his in the papers ; they would be very careful how 
they spoke of him in the Palaver, or at their clubs. 
-What can we expect, then, when we have only poor gal- 
lant blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, 
and righteous causes which do not triumph in their 
hands ; men who have holes enough in their armour, 
God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting 
in their lounging chairs, and having large balances at 
their bankers ? But you are brave, gallant boys, who 
hate easy-chairs, and have no balances or bankers. 
You only want to have your heads set straight to take 
the right side : so bear in mind that majorities, espe- 
cially respectable ones, are nine times out of ten in the 
wrong; and that if you see a man or boy striving 
earnestly on the weak side, however wrong-headed or 
blundering he may be, you are not to go and join the 
cr}’ against him. If you can’t join him and help him, 
and make him wiser, at any rate remember that he has 
found something in the world which he will fight and 
suffer for, which is just what you have got to do for 
yourselves ; and so think and speak of him tenderly. 

So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, 
became a sort of young Ishmaelites, their hands against 
every one, and every one’s hand against them. It has 
been already told how they got to war with the masters 
and the fifth form, and with the sixth it was much the 
same. They saw the priepostors cowed by or joining 


THE ISIIMAELITES. 


193 


with the fifth, and shirking their own duties ; so they 
(lidn*t respect them, and rendered no willing obedience. 
It had been one thing to clean out studies for sons of 
heroes like old Brooke, but quite another to do the like 
for Snooks and Green, who had never faced a good 
scrummage at football, and couldn’t keep the passages 
in order at night. So they only slurred through their 
fagging just well enough to escape a licking, and not 
always that, and got the character of sulky, unwilling 
fags. In the fifth-form room, hfcer supper, when such 
matters were often discussed and arranged, their names 
were for ever coming up. 

"I say. Green,” Snooks began one night, “isn’t that 
new boy, Harrison, your fag ? ” 

“ Yes ; why ? ” 

“ Oh, I know something of him at home, and should 
like to excuse him— will you swop ? ” 

“ Who will you give me ? ” 

“Well, let’s see; there’s Willis, Johnson — No, that 
won’t do. Yes, I have it — there’s young East, I’ll 
give you him.” 

“ Don’t you wish you may get it ?” replied Green. 
“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do — I’U give you two for Willis 
if you like.” 

“ Who then ? ” asks Snooks. 

“ Hall and Brown.” 

“ Wouldn’t have ’em at a gift.” 

“Better than East, though; for they ain’t quite so 
sharp,” said Green, getting up and leaning his back 
against the mantelpiece — he wasn’t a bad fellow, and 
couldn’t help not being able to put down the unruly 
fifth form. His eye twinkled as he went on, “Did 

O 


194 


THE ISHMAELITES. 


1 ever tell you liow the young vagabond sold me last 
half?” 

" No ; how ? " 

“Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only 
just stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard, and swept 
the crumbs on to the floor. So at last I was mortal 
angry, and had him up, made him go through the whole 
performance under my eyes : the dust the young scamp 
made nearly choked me, and showed that he hadn’t 
swept the carpet before. Well, when it was all finished, 
‘Now, young gentleman,’ says I, ‘mind, I expect this 
to be done every morning, floor swept, table-cloth taken 
off and shaken, and everything dusted.’ ‘ Very well,’ 
grunts he. Not a bit of it though — I was quite sure in 
a day or two that he never took the table-cloth off even. 
So I laid a trap for him : I tore up some paper and put 
half-a-dozen bits on my table one night, and the cloth 
over them as usual. Next morning, after breakfast, up 
I came, pulled off the cloth, and sure enough there was 
the paper, which fluttered down on to the floor. I was 
in a towering rage. ‘ I’ve got you now,’ thought I, and 
sent for him, while I got out my cane. Up he came 
as cool as you please, with his hands in his pockets 
‘ Didn’t I tell you to shake my table-cloth every morn- 
ing?’ roared I. ‘Yes,’ says he. ‘Did you do it this 
morning?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You young liar! I put these 
pieces of paper on the table last night, and if you’d 
taken the table-cloth oft' you’d have seen them, so I’m 
going to give you a good licking.’ Then my youngster 
takes one hand out of his pocket, and just stoops down 
and picks up two of the bits of paper, and holds them 
out to me. There was written on each, in great round 


MISFORTUNE THICKENS. 


195 


text, ‘H^^rry East, liis mark.’ The young rogue had 
found my trap out, taken away my paper, and put some 
of his there, every bit ear- marked. I’d a great mind 
to lick him for his impudence, but after all one has no 
right to be laying traps, so I didn’t. Of course I was 
at his mercy till the end of the half, and in his weeks 
my study was so frowsy, I couldn’t sit in it.” 

“They spoil one’s things so, too,” chimed in a third 
boy. “Hall and Brown were night-fags last week: I 
called fag, and gave them my candlesticks to clean ; 
away they went, and didn’t appear again. When they’d 
had time enough to clean them three times over, I went 
out to look after them. They weren’t in the passages, 
so down I went into the Hall, where I heard music, 
and there I found them sitting on the table, listening 
to Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candle- 
sticks stuck between the bars well into the Are, red-hot, 
clean- spoiled ; they’ve never stood straight since, and 
I must get some more. However, I gave them both a 
good licking, that’s one comfort.” 

Such were the sort of scrapes they were always 
getting into : and so, partly by their own faults, partly 
from circumstances, partly from the faults of others, 
they found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, or 
w^hat you will in that line: in short,- dangerous parties, 
and lived the sort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life 
which such parties generally have to put up with. 
Nevertheless, they never quite lost favour with young 
Brooke, who was now the cock of the house, and just 
getting into the sixth, and Diggs stuck to them like a 
man, and gave them store of good advice, by which they 
never in the least profited. 

0 2 


196 


THE AVON. 


And even after tlie house mended, and law and ordei 
had been restored, which soon happened after young 
Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth, they couldn’t 
easily or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and 
many of the old wild out-of-bounds habits stuck to them 
as firmly as ever. While they had been quite little 
boys, the scrapes they got into in the School hadn’t 
much mattered to anyone ; but now they were in the 
upper school, all wrong-doers from which were sent up 
straight to the Doctor at once : so they began to come 
under his notice ; and as they were a sort of leaders in 
a small way amongst their own contemporaries, his eye, 
which was everywhere, was upon them. 

It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, 
and so they were just the boys who caused most anxiety 
to such a master. You have been told of the first 
occasion on which they were sent up to the Doctor, and 
the remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had 
much less fear of him than most boys of their standing 
had. “It’s all his look,” Tom used to say to East, 
“ that frightens fellows : don’t you remember, he never 
said anytliing to us my first half-year, for being an 
hour late for locking up ? ” 

The next time that Tom came before him, however, 
the interview was of a very different kind. It happened 
just about the time at which we have now arrived, and 
was the first of a series of scrapes into which our hero 
managed now to tumble. 

The river Avon at Kugby is a slow and not very 
clear stream, in which chub, dace, roach, and other 
coarse fish are (or were) plentiful enough, together with 
a fair sprin^ding of small jack, but no fish worth six- 


THE AVON. 


197 


pence either for sport or food. It is, however, a capital 
river for bathing, as it has many nice small pools and 
several good reaches for swimming, all within about a 
mile of one another, and at an easy twenty minutes’ 
walk from the school. This mile of water is rented, oi 
used to be rented, for bathing purposes, by the Trustees 
of the School, for the boys. The footpath to Browns* 
over crosses the river by ** the Planks,” a curious old 
single-plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty yards 
into the flat meadows on each side of the river, — for in 
the winter there are frequent floods. Above the Planks 
were the bathing places for the smaller boys ; Sleath’s, 
the first bathing place where all new boys had to begin, 
until they had proved to the bathing men (three steady 
individuals who were paid to attend daily through the 
summer to prevent accidents) that they could swim 
pretty decently, when they were allowed to go on to 
Anstey’s, about one hundred and fifty yards below. 
Here there was a hole about six feet deep and twelve 
feet across, over which the puffing urchins struggled to 
the opposite side, and thought no small beer of them- 
selves for having been out of their depths. Below the 
Planks came larger and deeper holes, the first of which 
was Wratislaw’s, and the last Swift’s, a famous hole, 
ten or twelve feet deep in parts, and thirty yards across, 
from which there was a fine swimming reach right down 
to the Mill. Swift’s was reserved for the sixth and fifth 
forms, and had a spring board and two sets of steps : 
the others had one set of steps each, and were used 
indifferently by all the lower boy^ though each house 
addicted itself more to one hole than to another. The 
School-house at this time affected Wratislaw’s hole, 


198 


DISPUTED EIGHTS OF FISHING. 


and Tom and East, who had learnt to swim like fishes, 
were to be found there as regular as the clock through 
the summer, always twice, and often three times a day. 

Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right 
also to fish at their pleasure over the whole of this part 
of the river, and would not understand that the right 
(if any) only extended to the Eugby side. As ill luck ^ 
would have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite 
bank, after allowing it for some time without inter- 
ference, had ordered his keepers not to let the boys fish 
on his side ; the consequence of which had been, that 
there had been first wranglings and then fights between 
the keepers and boys; and so keen had the quarrel 
become, that the landlord and his keepers, after a 
ducking had been inflicted on one of the latter, and a 
fierce fight ensued thereon, had been up to the great 
School at calling-over to identify the delinquents, and 
it was all the Doctor himself and five or six masters 
could do to keep the peace. Not even his authority 
could prevent the hissing ; and so strong was the feeling, 
that the four praepostors of the week walked up the 
school with their canes, shouting S-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e 
at the top of their voices. However, the chief offenders 
for the time were flogged and kept in bounds, but the 
vic^torious party had brought a nice hornets’ nest about 
their ears. The landlord was hissed at the School 
gates as he rode past, and when he charged his horse 
at the mob of boys, and tried to thrash them with his 
whip, was driven back by cricket-bats and wickets, 
and pursued with pebbles and fives’-balls ; while the 
wretched keepers’ lives were a burthen to them, from 
having to watch the waters so closely. 


CHAFFING A KEEPER. 


199 


The School-house boys of Tom’s standing, one and 
all, as a protest against this tyranny and cutting- short 
of their lawful amusements, took to fishing in all ways 
and especially by means of night-lines. The little 
tackle-maker at the bottom of the town would soon 
have made his fortune had the rage lasted, and several 
of the barbers began to lay in fishing-tackle. The boys 
had this great advantage over their enemies, that they 
spent a large portion of the day in nature’s garb by the 
river side, and so, when tired of swimming, would get 
out on the other side and fish, or set night-lines till the 
keeper hove in sight, and then plunge in and swim 
back and mix with the other bathers, and the keepers 
were too wise to follow across the stream. 

While things were in this state, one day Tom and 
three or four others were bathing at Wratislaw’s, and 
had, as a matter of course, been taking up and re- 
setting night-lines. They had all left the water, and 
were sitting or standing about at their toilets, in all 
costumes from a shirt upwards, when they were aware 
of a man in a velveteen shooting-coat approaching from 
the other side. He was a new keeper, so they didn’t 
recognise or notice him, till he pulled up right opposite, 
and began : — 

“I see’d some of you young gentlemen over this 
side a fishing just now.” 

“ Hullo, who are you ? what business is that of 
yours, old Velveteens ? ” 

“ I’m the new under-keeper, and master’s told me 
to keep a sharp look-out on all o’ you young chaps. 
And I tells ’ee I means business, and you’d better keep 
on your own side, or we shall fall out.” 


200 


CHAFFING A KEEPER. 


Wiill, that’s right, Velveteens — speak out, and let’s 
know your mind at once.” 

“ Look here, old boy,” cried East, holding up a miser- 
able coarse fish or two and a small jack, would you like 
to smell ’em and see which bank they lived under ? ” 

“ I’ll give you a bit of advice, keeper,” shouted Tom, 
who was sitting in his shirt paddling with his feet in 
the river; “you’d better go down there to Swift’s, 
where the big boys are, they’re beggars at setting lines, 
and ’ll put you up to a wrinkle or two for catching the 
five-pounders.” Tom was nearest to the keeper, and 
that officer, who was getting angry at the chaff, fixed 
his eyes on our hero, as if to take a note of him for future 
use. Tom returned his gaze with a steady stare, and 
then broke into a laugh, and struck into the middle of 
a favourite School-house song — 

As I and iny companions 
Were setting of a snare, 

'^he gamekeeper was watching n% 

For him we did not care : 

Tor we can wrestle and tight, my boys, 

And jump out anywhere. 

For it’s my delight of a likely night, 

In the season of the year. 

The chorus was taken up by the other boys with 
shouts of laughter, and the keeper turned away with 
a grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The boys 
bhought no more of the matter. 

But now came on the may-fly season ; the soft hazy 
summer weather lay sleepily along the rich meadows 
by Avon side, and the green and grey flies flickered, 
with their graceful lazy up and down flight over the 
reeds and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon 
myriads. The may-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters 


THE KETUKN MATCH. 


201 


of the ephemersR ; the happiest, laziest, carelessest fly 
that dances and dreams out his few hours of sunshiny 
life by English rivers. 

Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on 
the alert for the flies, and gorging his wretched carcase 
with hundreds daily, the gluttonous rogues ! and every 
lover of the gentle craft was out to avenge the poor 
may-flies. 

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having bor- 
rowed East's new rod, started by himself to the river. 
He fished for some time with small success, not a fish 
would rise at him ; but, as he prowled along the bank, 
he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a 
pool on the opposite side, under the shade of a huge 
willow-tree. The stream was deep here, but some fifty 
yards below was a shallow, for which he made off hot- 
foot ; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibi- 
tions of the Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his 
trousers, plunged across, and in three minutes was creep- 
ing along on all fours towards the clump of willows. 

It isn’t often that great chub, or any other coarse 
fish are in earnest about anything, but just then they 
were thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half-an-hour 
Master Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at 
the foot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a 
fourth pounder, and just going to throw in again, he 
became aware of a man coming up the bank not one 
hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was 
the under-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before 
him? Ho, not carrying his rod. Nothing for it but 
the tree : so Tom laid his bones to it, shinning up as 
fast as he could, and dragging up his rod after him. 


202 


THE RETUEN MATCH 


He had just time to reach and crouch along upon a 
huge branch some ten feet up, which stretched out over 
the river, when the keeper arrived at the clump. Tom’s 
heart beat fast as he came under the tree ; two steps 
more and he would have passed, when, as ill-luck would 
have it, the gleam on the scales of the dead fish caught 
his eye, and he made a dead point at ■ the foot of the 
tree. He picked up the fish one by one ; his eye and 
touch told him that they had been alive and feeding 
within the hour. Tom crouched lower along the branch, 
and heard the keeper beating the clump. If I could 
only get the rod hidden,” thought he, and began gently 
shifting it to get it alongside him ; “ willow-trees don’t 
throw out straight hickory shoots twelve feet along, with 
no leaves, worse luck.” Alas ! the keeper catches the 
rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and then of Tom’s 
hand and arm. 

“Oh, be up ther’ be ’ee?” says he, running under 
the tree. “ Now you come down this minute.” 

“Tree’d at last,” thinks Tom, making no answer, 
and keeping as close as possible, but working away at 
the rod, which he takes to pieces : “ I’m in for it, un- 
less I can starve him out.” And then he begins to 
meditate getting along the branch for a plunge and 
scramble to the other side ; but the small branches are 
so thick, and the opposite bank so difficult, that the 
keeper will have lots of time to get round by the ford 
before he can get out, so he gives that up. And now 
he hears the keeper beginning to scramble up the 
trunk. That will never do ; so he scrambles himself 
back to where his branch joins the trunk, and stands 
with lifted rod. 



TOM DISCOVERED BY VELVETEENS. 


P. 199. 













'-■, lr> :V^n 


"^>>^'1 ':--r 

•.■•■*iES^™S' -:.• K' t * ® 

■:\-^- v-^';. * . y--^_ \ 






WITH VELVETEENS. 203 

“ Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come 
any higher.” 

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin 
says, “ Oh ! be you, he it, young measter ? Well, here’s 
luck. How I tells ’ee to come down at once, and TTl 
be best for ’ee.” 

“ Thank ’ee, Velveteens, I’m very comioitable,” said 
Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for 
battle. 

/‘AVerry well, please yourself,” says the keeper, de- 
scending however to the ground again, and taking his 
seat on the bank ; “ I bean’t in no hurry, so you med 
take your time. I’ll larn ’ee to gee honest folk names 
afore I’ve done with ’ee.” 

‘^My luck as usual,” thinks Tom; "what a fool 1 
was to give him a black. If I’d called him ‘keeper’ 
now I might get off. The return match is all his way.” 

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, 
fill, and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat 
disconsolately across the branch, looking at keeper — 
a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more he thought 
of it the less he liked it. " It must be getting near 
second calling-over,” thinks he. Keeper smokes on 
stolidly. " If he takes me up, I shall be flogged safe 
enough. I can’t sit here all night. Wonder if he’ll 
rise at silver. 

"I say, keeper,” said he meekly, “let me go for 
two bob ? ” 

“ Hot for twenty neither,” grunts his persecutor. 

And so they sat on till long past second calling-over, 
and the sun came slanting in through the willow- 
branches, and telling of locking-up near at hand. 


204 


velveteens’ eevenge. 


“ Fm coming down, keeper,” said Tom at last with a 
sigh, fairly tired out. “ Now what are you going to do ? ” 

“Walk ’ee up to School, and give ’ee over to the 
Doctor; them’s my orders,” says Velveteens, knocking 
the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and standing up and 
shaking himself. 

“ Very good,” said Tom ; “ hut hands off, you know. ITl 
go with you quietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing.” 

Keeper looked at him a minute — “ Werry good,” 
said he at last ; and so Toni descended, and wended his 
wa}^ drearily by the side of the keeper up to the School- 
house, where they arrived just at locking-up. As they 
passed the School -gates, the Tadpole and several others 
who were standing there caught the state of things, 
and rushed out, crying “ Eescue ! ” but Tom shook his 
head, so they only followed to the Doctor’s gate, and 
went back sorely puzzled. 

How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the 
last time that Tom was up there, as the keeper told the 
story, not omitting to state how Tom had called him 
blackguard names. “ Indeed, sir,” broke in the culprit, 
“ it was only Velveteens.” The Doctor only asked one 
question. 

“ You know the rule about the banks. Brown ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson.” 

“ I thought so,” muttered Tom. 

“ And about the rod, sir ? ” went on the keeper ; 
“ Master’s told we as we might have all the rods — ” 

“Oh, please, sir,” broke in Tom, the rod isn’t 
mine.” The Doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, 
who was a good-hearted fellow, and melted at Tom's 


MOKE SCRAPES. 


205 


evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged 
next morning, and a few days afterwards met Vel- 
veteens, and presented him with half-a-crown for giving 
up the rod claim, and they became sworn friends ; and 
I regret to say that Tom had many more fish from 
under the willow that may-fly season, and was never 
caught again by Velveteens. 

It wasn’t three weeks before Tom, and now East by 
his side, were again in the awful presence. This time, 
however, the Doctor was not so terrible. A few days 
before, they had been fagged at fives to fetch the balls 
that went off the court. While standing watching the 
game, they saw five or six nearly new balls hit on the 
top of the School. “ I say, Tom,” said East, when they 
were dismissed, “ couldn’t we get those balls somehow ? ” 

“ Let’s try, anyhow.” 

So they reconnoitred the walls carefully, borrowed 
a coal-hammer from old Stumps, bought some big nails, 
and after one or two attempts, scaled tlie Schools, and 
possessed themselves of huge quantities of fives’-balls. 
The place pleased them so much that they spent all 
their spare time there, scratching and cutting their 
names on the top of every tower ; and at last, having 
exhausted all other places, finished up with inscribing 
H. East, T. Brown, on the minute-hand of the great 
clock. In the doing of which they held the minute-hand, 
and disturbed the clock’s economy. So next morning, 
when masters and boys came trooping down to prayers, 
and entered the quadrangle, the injured minute-hand 
was indicating three minutes to the hour. They all 
pulled up, and took their time. When the hour struck, 
doors were closed, and half the school late. Thomas 


206 


MOEE SCKAPES. 


being sent to make inquiry, discovers their names on 
the minute-hand, and reports accordingly ; and they are 
sent for, a knot of their friends making derisive and 
pantomimic allusions to what their fate will be, as they 
walk off. 

But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn’t 
make much of it, and only gives them thirty lines of 
Homer to learn by heart, and a lecture on the likelihood 
of such exploits ending in broken bones. 

Alas ! almost the next day was one of the great fairs 
in the town ; and as several rows and other disagreeable 
accidents had of late taken place on these occasions, the 
Doctor gives out, after prayers in the morning, that no 
boy is to go down into the to svn. Wherefore East and 
Tom, for no earthly pleasure except that of doing what 
they are told not to do, start away, after second lesson, 
and making a short circuit through the fields, strike 
a back lane which leads into the town, go down it, and 
run plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into 
the High Street. The master in question, though a very 
clever, is not a righteous man : he has already caught 
several of his own pupils, and gives them lines to learn, 
while he sends East and Tom, who are not his pupils, 
up to the Doctor; who, on learning that they had been 
at prayers in the mormrg, bogs them soundly. 

The flogging did them no good at the time, for the 
injustice of their captor was rankling in their minds ; 
but it was just at the end of the half, and on the next 
evening but one Thomas knocks at their door, and says 
the Doctor wants to see them. They look at one an- 
other in silent dismay. What can it be now ? Which 
of their countless wrong-doings can he have heard of 


THE DOCTOR REIGNING. 


207 


officially ? However, it is no use delaying, so up they 
go to the study. There they find the Doctor; not angry, 
but very grave. “ He has sent for them to speak very 
seriously before they go home. They have each been 
flogged several times in the half-year for direct and 
wilful breaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are 
doing no good to themselves or others, and now they are 
getting up in the School, and have influence. They 
seem to think that rules are made capriciously, and for 
the pleasure of the masters ; but this is not so, they are 
made for the good of the whole School, and must and 
shall be obeyed. Those who thoughtlessly or wilfully 
break them will not be allowed to stay at the School. 
He should be sorry if they had to leave, as the School 
might do them both much good, and wishes them to 
think very seriously in the holidays over what, he has 
said. Good night.” 

And so the two hurry off horribly scared : the idea 
of having to leave has never crossed their minds, and is 
quite unbearable. 

As they go out, they meet at the door Old Holmes, 
a sturdy cheery praepostor of another house, who goes 
in to the Doctor; and they hear his genial hearty 
greeting of the new-comer, so different to their own 
reception, as the door closes, and return to their study 
with heavy hearts, and tremendous resolves to break no 
more rules. 

Five minutes afterwards the master of their form, 
a late arrival and a model yoTing master, knocks at the 
Doctor’s study-door. “ Come in ! ” and as he enters the 
Doctor goes on, to Holmes — “you see I do not know 
anything of the case officially, and if I take any notice 


208 


THE DOCTOR REIGNING. 


of it at all, I must publicly expel the boy. I don’t 
wish to do that, for I think there is some good in him. 
There’s nothing for it but a good sound thrashing.” 
He paused to shake hands with the master^ which 
Holmes does also, and then prepares to leave. 

“ I understand. Good niglit, sir.” 

“ Good night, Holmes. And remember,” added the 
Doctor, emphasizing the words, “ a good sound thrashing 
before the whole house.” 

The door closed on Holmes ; and the Doctor, in 
answer to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, explained 
shortly. “A gross case of bullying. Wharton, the 
head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight and 
weak, and severe physical pain is the only way to deal 
with such a case ; so I have as ked Holmes to take it up. 
He is very careful and trustworthy, and has plenty of 
strength. I wish all the sixth had as much. We must 
have it here, if w^e are to keep order at all.” 

How I don’t want any wiseacres to read this book ; 
but if they should, of course they will prick up their 
long ears, and howl, or rather bray, at the above story. 
Very good, I don’t object; but what I have to add for 
you boys is this : that Holmes called a levy of his house 
after breakfast next morning, made them a speech on 
the case of bullying in question, and then gave the bully 
a “ good sound thrashing ; ” and that years afterwards, 
that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying 
it had been the kindest act w hich had ever been done 
upon him, and the turning-point in his character ; and 
a very good fellow he became, and a credit to his 
School. 

After some other talk between them, the Doctor said, 


TUE DOCTOR REIGNIHG. 


209 


" T want to speak to you about two boys in your form, 
Cast and Brown : I have just been speaking to them. 
What do you think of them ? ” 

** Well, they are not hard workers, and very thought- 
less and full of spirits — but 1 can’t help liking them. 
J think they are sound good fellows at the bottom.” 

‘Tm glad of it. I think so too. But they make 
me very uneasy. They ai’e taking the lead a good deal 
amongst the fags in my house, for they are very active, 
bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, but I 
shan’t let them stay if I don’t see them gaining charac- 
ter and manliness. In another year they may do great 
harm to all the younger boys.” 

Oh, I hope you won’t send them away,” pleaded 
their master. 

“ Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, 
after any half-holiday, that I shan’t have to flog one of 
them next morning, for some foolish, thoughtless scrape. 
I quite dread seeing either of them.” 

They were both silent for a minute. Presently the 
Doctor began again : — 

" They don’t feel that they have any duty or work to 
do in the School, and how is one to make them feel it ? ” 

“ 1 think if either of them had some little boy to 
take care of, it would steady them. Brown is the most 
reckless of the two, 1 should say; East wouldn’t get 
into so many scrapes without him.” 

“ Well,” - said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, 
“ I’ll think of it.’' And they went on to talk of other 
subjects. 


P 




\ 


\ 


\ 


i 

t 

i 





TOM BEOWS SCHOOL BATS. 


PART 11. 


** I [hold] it tnith, with him who sings - 
To one clear harp in divers tones. 

That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things.’* 

Tennysoh. 


, BLACK MONDAY. > 


213 


CHAPTEK 1. 

HOW THE TIDE TUKNED. 

•*-Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide. 

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil sides 

**»•** 

' Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. 

Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucihed." 

Lowelu 

HE turning- 
point in our 
hero’s school 
career had now 
come, and the 
manner of it 
was as follows. 
On the evening 
of the first day 
of the next 
half-year, Tom, 
East, and an- 
other School- 
house boy, who 
had just been 
dropped at the 
Spread Eagle 
by the old 
Eegulator, rushed into the matron s room in high spirits, 
such as all real boys are in when they first get back, 
however fond they may be of home. 




214 


who’s come back? 


“Well, Mrs. Wixie,” shouted one, seizing on the 
metliodical, active little' dark-eyed woman, who was busy 
stowing away the linen of the boys who had already 
arrived into their several pigeon-holes, " here we are 
again, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put 
the things away.” 

“ And, Mary,” cried another (she was called indiffer- 
ently by either name), ** who’s come back ? Has the 
Doctor made old Jones leave? How many new boys 
are there ? ” 

“ Am I and East to have Gray’s study ? You know 
you promised to get it for us if you could,” shouted Tom. 

“ And am I to sleep in Number 4 ? ” roared East. 

“ How’s old Sam, and. Bogle, and Sally ? ” 

“ Bless the boys ! ” cries Mary, at last getting in a 
word, “ why, you’ll shake me to death. There now, do 
go away up to the housekeeper’s room and get your 
suppers ; you know I haven’t time to talk — you’ll find 
plenty more in the house. Now, Master East, do let 
those things alone — you’re mixing up three new boys’ 
things.” And she rushed at East, who escaped round 
the open trunks holding up a prize. 

“Hullo, look here. Tommy,” shouted he, “here’s 
fun ! ” and he brandished above his head some pretty 
little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the work 
of loving fingers in some distant country home. The 
kind mother and sisters, who sewed that delicate stitching 
with aching hearts, little thought of the trouble they 
might be bringing on the young head for which they 
were meant. The little matron was wiser, and snatched 
the caps from East before he could look at the name 
on them. 


THE SADDLE IS PUT ON TOM. 


215 


“Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you 
don’t go,” said she ; “ there’s some capital cold beef 
and pickles up-stairs, and I won’t have you old boys in, 
my room first night.” 

“Hurrah for the pickles! Come along. Tommy; 
come along, Smith. We shall find out who the young 
Count is, I’ll be bound : I hope he’ll sleep in my room. 
Mary’s always vicious first week.” 

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron 
touched Tom’s arm, and said, “Master Brown, please 
stop a minute, I want to speak to you.” 

“ Very well, Mary. I’ll come in a minute : East, 
don’t finish the pickles — ” 

“ Oh, Master Brown,” went on the little matron, 
when the rest had gone, “ you’re to have Gray’s study, 
Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this 
young gentleman. He’s a new boy, and thirteen years 
old, though he don’t look it. He's very delicate, and 
has never been from home before. And I told Mrs. 
Arnold I thought you’d be kind to him, and see that 
they don’t bully him at first. He’s put into your form, 
and I’ve given him the bed next to yours in Number 4 ; 
so East can’t sleep theye this half.” 

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had 
got the double study which he coveted, but here were 
conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy 
He looked across the room, and in the far corner of tho 
sofa was aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue 
eyes and light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink 
through the floor. He saw at a glance that the little 
stranger was. just the boy whose first half-year at a 
public school would be iliisery to himself if he were 


216 THE SADDLE IS PUT ON TOM. 

left alone, or constant anxiety to any one who meant to 
see him through his troubles. Tom was too honest to 
take in the youngster and then let him shift for him- 
self; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, 
where were all his pet plans of having a bottled-beer 
cellar under his window, and making night-lines and 
slings, and plotting expeditions to Brownsover Mills 
and Caldecott's Spinney ? East and he had made up 
their minds to get this study, and then every night 
from locking-up till ten they would be together to talk 
about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat’s novels, 
and sort birds’ eggs. And this new boy would most 
likely never go out of the close, and would be afraid of 
wet feet, and always getting laughed at and called 
Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine nickname. 

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw 
what was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise nego- 
tiator, threw in an appeal to his warm heart. “ Poor 
little fellow,” said she in almost a whisper, “ his father’s 
dead, and he’s got no brothers. And his mamma, such 
a kind sweet lady, almost broke her heart at leaving 
him this morning ; and she said one of his sisters was 
like to die of decline, and so '* 

“ Well, well,” burst in Tom, with something like 
a sigh at the effort, “ I suppose I must give up East. 
Come along, young un. AVhat’s your name ? We’ll go 
and have some supper, and then I’ll show you our study.” 

“ His name’s George Arthur,” said the matron, 
walking up to him with Tom, who grasped his little 
delicate hand as the proper preliminary to making a 
chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him 
away. “I’ve had his books and things put into tha 


TEA WITH THE DOCTOR. 


2n 


study, wliicli liis mamma has had new papered, and 
the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over the 
door” (the diplomatic matron threw this in, to show that 
the new boy was contributing largely to the partnership 
comforts). ‘'And Mrs. Arnold told me to say,” she 
added, “ that she should like you both to come up to 
tea with her. You know the way, Master Brown, and 
the things are just gone up, I know.” 

Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He 
was to go up to tea the first night, just as if he were a 
sixth or fifth-form boy, and of importance in the school 
world, instead of f^he most reckless young scapegrace 
amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a higher 
social and moral platform at once. Nevertheless, he 
couldn’t give up without a sigh the idea of the jolly 
supper in the housekeeper’s room with East and the 
rest, and a rush round to ail the studies of his friends 
afterwards, to pour out the deeds and wonders of the 
holidays, to plot fifty plans for the coming half-year, 
and to gather news of who had left, and what new boys 
had come, who had got who’s study, and where the new 
praepostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with 
thinking that he couldn’t have done all this with the 
nMv boy at his heels, and so marched off along the 
passages to the Doctor’s private house with his young 
charge in tow, in monstrous good humour with himself 
and all the world. 

It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how 
the two young boys were received in that drawing-room- 
The lady who presided there is still living, and has 
carried with her to her peaceful liome in the North the 
respect and love of all those who ever felt and shared 


218 TEA WITH THE DOCTOR. 

that gentle and high-bred hospitality. Ay, many is 
the brave heart now doing its work and bearing its load 
in country curacies, London chambers, under the Indian 
sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks 
back with fond and grateful memory to that School- 
house drawing-room, and dates much of its highest and 
best training to the lessons learnt there. 

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder 
children, there were one of the younger masters, young 
Brooke — ^who was now in the sixth, and had succeeded 
to his brother’s position and influence — and another 
sixth-form boy there, talking together before the fire. 
The master and young Brooke, now a great strapping 
fellow six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful 
as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense 
glory, and then went on talking; the other did not 
notice them. The hostess, after a few kind words, which 
led the boys at once and insensibly to feel at their ease, 
and to begin talking to one another, left them with her 
own children while she finished a letter. The young 
ones got on fast and well, Tom holding forth about a 
prodigious pony he had been riding out hunting, and 
hearing stories of the winter glories of the lakes, when 
tea came in, and immediately after the Doctor himselfT 

How frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting 
to the party by the fire I It did Tom’s heart good to 
see him and young Brooke shake hands, and look one 
another in the face; and he didn’t fail to remark, 
that Brooke was nearly as tall, and quite as broad as 
the Doctor. And his cup was full, when in another 
moment his master turned to him with another warm 
shake, of the hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all the: 


TEA WITH THE DOCTOR. 


219 


late scrapes which he had heen getting into, said, 
Ah, Brown, you here ! I hope you left your father and 
all well at home ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, quite well.” 

“ And this is the little fellow who is to share your 
study. Well, he doesn’t look as we should like to see 
him. He wants some Eughy air, and cricket. And 
you must take him some good long walks, to Bilton 
Grange and Caldecott’s Spinney, and show him what a 
little pretty country we have about here.” 

Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to 
Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking rooks’ 
nests (a proceeding strongly discountenanced by the 
owner thereof), and those to Caldecott’s Spinney were 
prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night- 
lines. What didn’t the Doctor know ? And what a 
noble use he always made of it ! He almost resolved 
to abjure rook-pies and night-lines for ever. The tea 
went merrily off, the Doctor now talking of holiday 
doings, and then of the prospects of the half-year, what 
chance there w^as for the Balliol scholarship, whether 
the eleven would be a good one. Every body was at 
his ease, and every body felt that he, young as he might 
be, w^as of some use in the little school world, and 
had a work to do there. 

Soon after tea the Doctor w^ent off to his study, and 
the young boys a few minutes afterwards took their 
leave, and w'ent out of the private door wliicli led from 
the Doctor’s house into the middle passage. 

At the lire, at the further end of the passage, was 
a crowd of boys in loud talk and laughter. There w'as 
a sudden pause when the door opened, and then a great 


220 ARTHUR’S DEBUT. 

shout of greeting, as Tom was recognised marching 
down the passage. 

“ Hullo, Brown, where do you come from ? ” 

** Oh, I’ve been to tea with the Doctor,” says Tom, 
with great dignity. 

“My eye!” cried East. “Oh! so that’s why Mary 
called you back, and you didn’t come to supper. You 
lost something — that beef and pickles was no end good.” 

“I say, young fellow,” cried Hall, detecting Arthur, 
and catching him by the collar, “ what’s your name ? 
Where do you come from ? How old are you ? ” 

Tom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all 
the group turned to him, but thought it best to let him 
answer, just standing by his side to support in case of 
need. 

“ Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire.” 

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’ you young muff. How old are 
you?” 

“ Thirteen.” 

“ Can you sing ? ” 

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom 
struck in — “You be hanged. Tadpole. He’ll have to 
sing, whether he can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, 
and that’s long enough off yet.” 

“Do you know him at home. Brown ? ” 

“ Ho ; but he’s my chum in Gray’s old study, and 
it’s near prayer time, and I haven’t had a look at it 
yet. Come along, Arthur.” 

Aw^ay went the two, Tom longing to get his charge 
safe under cover, where he might advise him on his 
deportment. 

“ What a queer chum for Tom Brown,” was the 


AETirUR'S DEBUT. 


‘221 


comment at the fire; and it must be confessed so 
thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and 
surveyed the new green-baize curtains and the carpet 
and sofa with much satisfaction. 

** I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make 
ns so cosy. But look here now, you must answer 
straight up when the fellows speak to you, and don’t be 
afraid. If you’re afraid, you’ll get bullied. And don’t 
you say you can sing ; and don’t you ever talk about 
home, or your mother and sisters.” 

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. 

" But please,” said he, “ mayn’t I talk about — about 
home to you ? ” 

** Oh yes, I like it. But don’t talk to boys you 
don’t know, or they’ll call you home-sick, or mamma’s 
darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly desk ! Is 
that yours ? And vrhat stunning binding ! why, your 
school-books look like novels ! ” 

And Tom was soon deep in Arthur’s goods and chat- 
tels, aU new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and 
hardly thought of his friends outside, till the prayer- 
bell rung. 

I have already described the School-house prayers ; 
they were the same on the first night as on the other 
nights, save for the gaps caused by the absence of those 
boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood 
all together at the further table— of all sorts and sizes, 
like young bears with all their troubles to come, as 
Tom’s father had said to him when he was in the same 
position. He thought of it as he looked at the line, 
and poor little slight Arthur standing with them, and 
as he was leading lum up-stairs to -Number 4, directly 


222 


ARTnUK’S DEBUT. 


after prayers, and sliowing him his bed. It was a huge 
high airy room, with two large windows looking on to 
the School close. There were twelve beds in the room. 
The one in the furthest corner by the fire-place, occupied 
by the sixth-form boy who was responsible for the 
discipline of the room, and the rest by boys in the 
lower-fifth and other junior forms, all fags (for the fifth- 
form boys, as has been said, slept in rooms by them- 
selves). Being fags, the eldest of them was not more 
than about sixteen years old, and were all bound to be 
up and in bed by ten ; the sixth-form boys came to bed 
from ten to a quarter-past (at which time the old verger 
came round to put the candles out), except when they 
sat up to read. 

Within a few minutes therefore of their entry, all the 
other boys who slept in Kumber 4 had come up. The 
little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began 
undressing and talking to each other in whispers ; 
while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting 
about on one another’s beds, with their jackets and 
waistcoats off. Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed 
with the novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in 
the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed 
his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange 
to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket oft'; 
however, presently, with an eftbrt, off it came, and then 
he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the 
bottom of his bed talking and laughing. 

“ Please, Brown,” he whispered, may I wash my 
face and hands ? ” 

“ Of course, if you like,” said Tom, staring ; " that’s 
your washhand-stand, under the window, second from 


LESSON NO. 1. 


223 


yoTir bed. You’ll have to go down for more water in 
the morning if you use it all.” And on he went with 
his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the 
beds out to his washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, 
thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention 
of the room. 

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his 
washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. 
He then looked round more nervously than ever. Two 
or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting 
up with their chins on their knees. The light burned 
clear, the noise went on. It was a trying moment for 
the poor little lonely boy ; however, this time he didn’t 
ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped 
on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day 
from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who 
heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender 
child, and the strong man in agony. 

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing 
his boots, so that his back was towards Artliur, and he 
didn’t see what had happened, and looked up in wonder 
at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed 
and sneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing 
in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and 
shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling 
young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next 
moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at 
the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up 
his arm and catch it on his elbow. 

“Confound you. Brown, what’s that for?” roared he, 
stamping with pain. 

“ Never mind what I mean,” said Tom, stepping on 


224 


LESSON NO. 1. 


to the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling ; 

if any fellow wants the other boot, lie knows how to 
get it.” 

What would have been the result is doubtful, for 
at this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and nob 
another word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed 
into bed and finished their unrobing there, and the old 
verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle 
in another minute, and toddled on to the next room, 
shutting their door with his usual “ Good night, 
genl’ni’n.” 

There were many boys in the room by whom that 
little scene was taken to heart before they slept. But 
sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. 
For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories 
which chased one another through his brain, kept him 
from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his 
heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from 
springing out of bed and rushing about the room. 
Then the thought of his own mother came across him, 
and the promise he had made at her knee, years ago, 
never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and give himself 
up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, 
from which it might never rise ; and he lay down gently 
and cried as if his heart would break. He was only 
fourteen years old. 

It was no light act of courage in those days, my 
dear boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, 
even at Kugby. A few years later, when Arnold’s 
manly piety had begun to leaven the School the tables 
turned ; before he died, in the School-house at least, and 
I believe in the other houses, the rule was the other 


LESSON NO. 1. 


225 


way. But poor Tom had come to school in other 
times. The first few nights after he came he did not 
kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till 
the candle w’as out, and then stole out and said his 
prayers in fear, lest some one should find hini out. So 
did many another poor little fellow. Then he began to 
think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, 
and then that it didn’t matter whether he was kneeling, or 
sitting, or lying down. And so it had come to pass with 
Tom as with all who will not confess their Lord before 
men : and for the last year he had probably not said his 
prayers in earnest a dozen times. 

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which 
was like to brPAk his heart was the sense of his own 
cowardice. The vice of all others which he loathed w^as 
brought in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied 
to his mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could 
he bear it ? And then the poor little weak boy, whom 
he had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had 
done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do. 
The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to 
himself that he would stand by that boy through thick 
and thin, and cheer him, and help him, and bear his 
burdens, for the good deed done that night. Tiien he 
resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, 
and what a coward her son had been. And then peace 
came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony 
next morning. The morning would be harder than the 
night to begin wdth, but he felt that he could not afford 
to let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for 
the devil showed him, first, all his old friends calling him 
“ Saint ” and “ Square-toes,” and a dozen hard names, 

Q 


226 


LESSON NO. 1. 


and whispered to him that his motives would he mis- 
understood, and he would only be left alone with the 
new boy; whereas it was his duty to keep all means of 
influence, that he might do good to the largest number. 
i\nd then came the more subtle temptation, “ Shall I 
not be showing myself braver than others by doing this ? 
Have I any right to begin it now ? Ought I not rather 
to pray in my own study, letting other boys know that 
I dp so, and trying to lead them to it, while in public 
at least I should go on as I have done ? ” However, his 
good angel was too strong that night, and he turned on 
his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved 
to follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in 
which he had found peace. 

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all 
but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes* 
bell began to ring, and then in the face of the whole 
room knelt down to pray. Not five words could he say 
— the bell mocked him ; he was listening for every 
whisper in the room — what were they all thinking of 
him ? He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to 
rise from his knees. At last, as it were from his inmost 
heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the 
words of the publican, “ God be merciful to me a 
sinner ! ** He repeated them over and over, clinging to 
them as for his life, and rose from his knees comforted 
and humbled, and ready to face the Avh ole world. It 
was not needed : two other boys besides Arthur had 
already followed his example, and he went dowm to tlie 
great School wich a glimmering of another lesson in his 
heart — the lesson that he who has conquered his own 
coward spirit has conquered the whole outward world ; 


TOM LEAKNS HIS LESSON, 


227 


and that other one which the old prophet learnt in the 
cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the 
still small voice asked, “ What doest thou here, Elijah ? ” 
that however we may fancy ourselves alone on the side 
of good, the King and Lord of men is nowhere without 
His witnesses ; for in every society, however seemingly 
corrupt and godless, there are those who have not 
bowed the knee to Baal. 

He found too how greatly he had exaggerated the 
effect to be produced by his act. Eor a few nights there 
was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but 
this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys 
but three or four followed the lead. I fear that this 
was in some measure owing to the fact, that Tom could 
probably have thrashed any boy in the room except the 
praepostor; at any rate, every boy knew that he would 
try upon very slight provocation, and didn’t choose to 
run the risk of a hard fight because Tom Brown had 
taken a fancy to say his prayers. Some of the small 
boys of Number 4 communicated the new state of 
things to their chums, and in several other rooms the 
poor little fellows tried it on ; in one instance or so 
where the praepostor heard of it and interfered very 
decidedly, with partial success ; but in the rest, after 
a short struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed 
down, and the old state of things went on for some ' 
time longer. Before either Tom Brown or Arthur left 
the School-house, there was no room in which it had 
not become the regular custom. I trust it is so still, 
and that the old heathen state of things has gone out 
for ever. , 


223 


tom’s LESPOKSIBILITT. 


CHAPTEE IT. 

THE NEW BOY. 


** And Heaven’s rich instincts in him grew. 

As effortless as woodland noohs 

Send violets up and paint them blue.”— Lowelu 



DO not mean 
to recount all 
the little 
troubles and 
an noyances 
which throng- 
ed upon Tom 
at the begin- 
ning of this 
half-year, in 
his new cha- 
racter of bear- 
leader to a 
gentle little 
boy straight 
from home. 
He seemed to 

himself to have become a new boy again, without any 
of the long-suffering and meekness indispensable for 
supporting that character with moderate success. From 
morning till night he had the feeling of responsibility 


tom’s trials. 


229 


on Ins mmd ; and even if lie left Arthur in their study 
or in the close for an hour, was never at ease till he 
had him in sight again. He waited for liim at the 
doors of the school after every lesson and every calling- 
over ; watched that no tricks were played him, and 
none but the regulation questions asked ; kept his eye 
on his plate at dinner and breakfast, to see that no 
unfair depredations were made upon his viands; in 
short, as East remarked, cackled after him like a hen 
with one chick. 

Arthur took a long time thawing too, which made it 
all the harder work ; was sadly timid ; scarcely ever 
spoke unless Tom spoke to him first ; and, worst of all, 
would agree with him in everything, the hardest thing ^ 
in the world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry 
sometimes, as they sat together of a night in their study, 
at this provoking habit of agreement, and was on the 
point of breaking out a dozen times with a lecture upon 
the propriety of a fellow having a will of his own and 
speaking out ; but managed to restrain himself by the 
thought that it might only frighten Arthur, and the 
remembrance of the lesson he had learnt from him on 
his first nmht at Number 4. Then he would resolve to 
sit still, and not say a word till Arthur began ; but he 
was always beat at that game, and had presently to 
begin talking in despair, fearing lest Arthur might 
think he was vexed at something if he didn’t, and dog- 
tired of sitting tongue-tied. 

It was hard w'ork ! But Tom had taken it up, and 
meant to stick to it, and go through with it, so as to 
satisfy himself; in which resolution he was much assisted 
by the chaffing of East a«f his other old friends, who 


230 


east's advice. 


began to call him “ dry-nurse,” and otherwise to break 
their small wit on him. But when they took other 
ground, as they did every now and then, Tom was 
sorely puzzled. 

‘‘Tell you what. Tommy,” East would say, “you’ll 
spoil young Hopeful with too much coddling. Why 
can’t you let him go about by himself and find his own 
level? He’ll never be worth a button, if you go on 
keeping him under your skirts.” 

“ Well, but he ain’t fit to fight his own way yet ; 
I’m trying to get him to it every day — but he’s very 
odd. Poor little beggar! I can’t make him out a bit. 
He ain’t a bit like anything I’ve ever seen or heard of 
— he seems all over nerves ; anything you say seems 
to hurt him like a cut or a blow.” 

“ That sort of boy’s no use here,” said East, “ he’ll 
only spoil Now, I’ll tell you what to do. Tommy. Go 
and get a nice large band-box made, and put him in 
with plenty of cotton wool, and a pap-bottle, labelled 
‘With care — this side up,’ and send him back to 
mamma.” 

“ I think I shall make a hand of him though,” said 
Tom, smiling, “ say what you will There’s something 
about him, every now and then, which shows me he’s 
got pluck somewhere in him. That’s the only thing 
after all that’ll wash, ain’t it, old Scud ? But how to 
get at it and bring it out ? ” 

Tom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket and 
stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat 
a tilt over his nose, his one method of invoking wisdom. 
He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled 
look, and presently looked up and met East’s eyes. 


AN EPISODE. 


231 


That young gentleman slapped him on the back, and 
then put his arm round his shoulder, as they strolled 
through the quadrangle together. “ Tom,’' said he, 
“ blest if you ain’t the best old fellow ever was — I do 
like to see you go into a thing. Hang it, I wish I 
could take things as you do — but I never can get 
higher than a joke. Everything’s a joke. If I was 
going to be flogged next minute, I should be in a blue 
funk, but I couldn’t help laughing at it for the liie 
of me.” 

“ Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the 
great fives’-court.” 

“ Hullo, though, that’s past a joke,” broke out East, 
springing at the young gentleman who addressed them, 
and catching him by the collar. " Here, Tommy, catch 
hold of him t’other side before he can holla.” 

The youth was seized, and dragged struggling out 
of the quadrangle into the School-house hall. He was 
one of the miserable little pretty white-handed curly- 
lieaded boys, petted and pampered by some of the big 
fellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them 
to drink and use bad language, and did all they could 
to spoil them for everything* in this world and the 
next. One of the avocations in which these young 
gentlemen took particular delight, was in going about 
and getting fags for their protectors, when those heroes 
were playing any game. They carried about pencil 
and paper with them, putting down the names of all the 
boys they sent,- always sending five times as many as 

* A kind and wise critic, an old Rugkeean, notes here in the margin : The “small 
friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847." Before that, too, there were 
many noble friendships between big and little boys, but 1 can’t strike out tlia 
passage : many boys will know why it is left in. 


232 


AN EPISODE. 


were wanted, and getting all those thrashed who didn’t 
go. The present youth belonged to a house which was 
very jealous of the School-house, and always picked out 
School-house fags when he could find them. However, 
this time he’d got the wrong sow by the ear. His 
captors slammed the great door of the hall, and East 
put his back against it, while Tom gave the prisoner a 
shake-up, took away his list, and stood him up on the 
floor, while he proceeded leisurely to examine that 
document. 

“ Let me out, let me go ! ” screamed the boy in a 
furious passion. ‘Til go and tell Jones this minute, 

and he’ll give you both the thrashing you ever 

had.” 

“Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top of 
his hat; “hark how he swears, Tom. Nicely brought- 
up young man, ain’t he, I don’t think.” 

“ Let me alone, — * — you,” roared the boy, foaming 
with rage, and kicking at East, who quietly tripped him 
up, and deposited him on the floor in a place of safety. 

“ Gently, young fellow,” said he ; “ ’taint improving 
for little whippersnappers like you to be indulging in 
blasphemy ; so you stop that, or you’ll get something 
you won’t like.” 

“ I’ll have you both licked when I get out, that I 
will,” rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel. 

“ Two can play at that game, mind you,” said Tom, 
who had finished his examination of the list. “ Now 
you just listen here. We’ve just come across the fives’- 
coiirt, and Jones has four fags there already, two more 
than he wants. If he’d wanted us to change, he’d have 
stopped us himself. And here, you little blackguard. 


AN EPISODE. 


233 


youVe got seven names down on your list besides ours, 
and five of them School-house.” Tom walked up to 
him and jerked him on to his Tegs ; he was by this time 
whining like a whipped puppy. 

Now just listen to me. We ain^t going to fag for 
Jones. If you tell him you’ve sent us, well each of us 
give you such a thrashing as you’ll remember.” And 
Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the 
fire. 

And mind you too,” said East, don’t let me catch 
you again sneaking about the School-house, and pick- 
ing up our fags. You haven’t got the sort of hide to 
take a sound licking kindly ; ” and he opened the door 
and sent the young gentleman flying into the quad- 
rangle, with a parting kick. 

“Nice boy. Tommy,” said East, shoving his hands 
in his pockets and strolling to the fire. 

“Worst sort we breed,” responded Tom, following 
his example. “Thank goodness, no big fellow ever 
took to petting me.” 

“ You’d never have been like that,” said East. “ 1 
should like to have put him in a museum : — Christian 
young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated. 
Stir him up with a long pole. Jack, and hear him 
swear like a drunken sailor ! — He’d make a respectable 
public open its eyes, I think.” 

“ Think he’ll tell Jones ? ” said Tom. 

“ No,” said East. “ Don’t care if he does.’" 

“Nor I,” said Tom. And they went back to talk 
about Arthur. 

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell 
Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted 


•234 


LESSON NO. 2 . 


as some of the toughest fags in the school, wouldn’t 
care three straws for any licking Jones might give 
them, and would be likely to keep their •words as to 
passing it on with interest. 

After the above conversation. East came a good deal 
to their study, "and took notice of Arthur ; and soon 
allowed to Tom that he was a thorough little gentle- 
man, and would get over his shyness all in good time ; 
which much comforted our hero. He felt every day, 
too, the value of having an object in his life, something 
that drew him out of himself ; and, it being the dull 
time of the year, and no games going about which he 
much cared, was happier than he had ever yet been at 
school, which was saying a great deal. 

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his 
charge, was from locking-up till supper-lime. During 
this hour or hour-and-half he used to take his fling, 
going round to the studies ol all his acquaintance, 
sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old 
iron-bound tables, or carving a bit of his name on them, 
then joining in some chorus of merry voices ; in fact, 
blowing off his steam, as we should now call it. 

This process was so congenial to his temper, and 
Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrangement, 
that it was several weeks before Tom was ever in their 
study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed 
in to look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other 
articles essential to his pursuit for the time being, and 
vdiile rummaging about in the cupboards, looked up 
for a moment, and was caught at once by the figure of 
poor little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows 
on the table, and his head leaning on his hands, and 


I 


LESSON NO. 2. 235 

before him an open book, on which his tears were falling 
fast. Tom shut the door at once, and sat down on the 
sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck. 

“Why, young un! what’s the matter?” said he, 
kindly ; “ you ain’t unhappy, are you ? ” 

“ Oh no. Brown,” said the little boy, looking up with 
the great tears in his eyes, “ you are so kind to me, I’m 
very happy.” 

« Why don’t you call .me Tom ? lots of boys do that 
I don’t like half so much as you. What are you read- 
ing, then ? Hang it, you must come about with me, 
and not mope yourself,” and Tom cast down his eyes 
on the book, and saw it was the Bible. He was silent 
for a minute, and thought to himself, “ Lesson Num- 
ber 2, Tom Brown — and then said gently — 

“ I’m very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed 
that I don’t read the Bible more myself. Do you read 
it every night before supper while I’m out ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, I wish you’d wait till afterwards, and then 
we’d read together. But, Arthur, why does it make 
you cry?” 

“ Oh, it isn’t that I’m unhappy. But at home, while 
my father w^as alive, we always read the lessons after 
tea ; and I love to read them over now, and try to re- 
member what he said about them. I can’t remember 
all, and I think I scarcely understand a great deal of 
what I do remember. But it all comes back to me so 
fresh, that I can’t help crying sometimes to think I 
shall never read them again with him.” 

Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and 
Tom hadn’t encouraged him to do so, as his blundering 


236 


aethuk's home. 


school-boy reasoning made him think that Arthur would 
be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But 
now he was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels 
and bottled beer ; while with very little encouragement 
Arthur launched into his home history, and the prayer- 
bell put them both out sadly when it rang to call them 
to the hall. 

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, 
and above all, of his father, who had been dead about 
a year, and whose memory Tom soon got to love and 
reverence almost as much as his own son did. 

Arthur’s father had been the clergyman of a parish 
in the Midland Counties, which had risen into a large 
town during the war, and upon which the hard years 
which followed had fallen with a fearful Aveight. The 
trade had been half ruined : and then came the old sad 
story, of masters reducing their establishments, men 
turned off and wandering about, hungry and wan in 
body and fierce in soul, from the thought of wives and 
children starving at home, and the last sticks of furni- 
ture going to the pawn-shop. Children taken from 
school, and lounging about the dirty streets and courts, 
too listless almost to play, and squalid in rags and 
misery. And then the fearful struggle between the 
employers and men; lowerings of wages, strikes, and 
the long course of oft-repeated crime, ending every 
now and then with a riot, a fire, and the county yeo-* 
manry. There is no need here to dwell upon such 
tales ; the Englishman into whose» soul they have not 
sunk deep is not worthy the name ; you English boys 
for whom this book is meant (God bless your bright 
faces and kind hearts !) will learn it all soeu enough. 


ARTHUR’S HOME, 


237 


Into such a parish and state of society, Arthur’s 
father had been thrown at the age of twenty-five, a 
young married parson, full of faith, hope, and love. 
He had battled with it like a man, and had lots of fine 
Utopian ideas about the perfectibility of mankind, glo- 
rious humanity and such-like, knocked out of his head ; 
and a real wholesome Christian love for the poor strug- 
gling, sinning men, of whom he felt himself one, and 
with and for whom he spent fortune, and strength, and 
life, driven into his heart He had battled like a man, 
and gotten a man’s reward. No silver teapots or salvers, 
with flowery inscriptions, setting forth his virtues and 
the appreciation of a genteel parish ; no fat living or 
stall, for which he never looked, and didn’t care; no 
sighs and praises of comfortable dowagers and well 
got-up young women, who wmrked him slippers, sugared 
his tea, and adored him as ‘ a devoted man ; * but a 
manly respect, wrung from the unwilling souls of men 
who fancied his order their natural enemies ; the fear 
and hatred of every one who was false or unjust in the 
district, were he master or man ; and the blessed sight 
of women and children daily becoming more human 
and more homely, a comfort to themselves and to their 
husbands and fathers. 

These things of course took time, and had to be 
fought for with toil and sweat of brain and heart, and 
with the life-blood poured out. All that, Arthur had 
laid his account to give, and took as a matter of course ; 
neither pitying himself, or looking on himself as a 
martyr, when he felt the wear and tear making him 
feel old before his time, and the stifling air of fever 
dens telling on his health. His wife seconded him in 


238 


ARTHUR’S HOME. 


everything. She had been rather fond of society, and 
much admired and run after before her marriage ; and 
the London world, to which she had belonged, pitied 
poor Fanny Evelyn when she married the young clergy- 
man and went to settle in that smoky hole Turley, a 
very nest of Chartism and Atheism, in a part of the 
county which all the decent families had had to leave 
for years. However, somehow or other she didn’t seem 
to care. If her husband’s living had been amongst 
green fields and near pleasant neighbours, she would 
have liked it better, that she never pretended to deny. 
But there they were : the air wasn’t bad after all ; the 
people were very good sort of people, civil to you if you 
were civil to them, after the first brush ; and they didn’t 
expect to work miracles, and convert them all off-hand 
into model Christians. So he and she went quietly 
among the folk, talking to and treating them just as 
they would have done people of their own rank. They 
didn’t feel that they were doing anything out of the 
common way, and so were perfectly natural, and had 
none of that condescension or consciousness of manner 
which so outrages the independent poor. And thus 
they gradually won respect and confidence ; and after 
sixteen years he was looked up to by the whole neigh- 
bourhood as the just man, the man to whom masters 
and men could go in their strikes, and all in their 
quarrels and difficulties, and by whom the right and 
true word would be said without fear or favour. And 
the women had come round to take her advice, and no 
to her as a friend in all their troubles; while the chil- 
dren all worshipped the very ground she trod on. 

They had three children, two daughters and a son, 

4 


ARTHUR’S HOME. 


239 


little Arthur, who came between his sisters. He had 
been a very delicate boy from his childhood; they 
thought he had a tendency to consumption, and so he 
had been kept at home and taught by his father, who 
had made a companion of him, and from whom he had 
gained good scholarship, and a knowledge of and inte- 
rest in many subjects which boys in general never come 
across till they are many years older. 

J ust as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father 
had settled that he was strong enough to go to school, 
and, after much debating with himself, had resolved to 
send him there, a desperate typhus-fev’^er broke out in 
the town ; most of the other clergy, and almost all the 
doctors, ran away; the workiell with tenfold weight on 
those who stood to their work. Arthur and his wife 
both caught the fever, of which he died in a few days, 
and she recovered, having been able to nurse him to 
the end, and store up his last words. He was sensible 
to the last, and calm and happy, leaving his wife and 
children with fearless trust for a few years in the hands 
of the Lord and Friend who had lived and died for him, 
and for whom he, to the best of his power, had lived 
and died. His widow’s mourning was deep and gentle ; 
she was more affected by the request of the Committee 
of a Freethinking Club, established in the town by some 
of the factory hands, (which he had striven against with 
might and main, and nearly suppressed,) that some of 
their number might be allowed to help bear the coffin, 
than by anything else. Two of them were chosen, who 
with six other labouring men, his own fellow-workmen 
and friends, bore him to his gravp— a man who had 
fought the Lord’s fight even unto the death. The 


240 


AETlIUrv’S HOME. 


shops were closed and the factories shut that day in the 
parish, yet no master stopped the day’s wages ; but for 
many a year afterwards the townsfolk felt the want of 
that brave, hopeful, loving parson, and his wife, who 
had lived to teach them mutual forbearance and help- 
fulness, and had ahnost at last given them a glimpse of 
what this old world would be if people would live for 
God and each other, instead of for themselves. 

What bas all this to do v/ith our story ? Well, my 
dear boys, let a fellow go on his own way, or you won’t 
get anything out of him worth having. I must show 
you what sort of a man it was who had begotten and 
trained little Arthur, or else you won’t believe in him, 
which I am resolved you siiall do ; and you won’t see 
how he, the timid weak boy, had points in him from 
which the bravest and strongest recoiled, and ma'de his 
presence and example felt from the first on all sides, 
unconsciously to himself, and without the least attempt 
at proselytizing. The spirit of his father was in him, 
and the Friend to whom his father had left him did 
not neglect the trust. 

After supper that night, and almost nightly for years 
afterwards, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees East 
occasionally, and sometimes one, sometimes another, of 
their friends, read a chapter of the Bible together, and 
talked it over afterwards. Tom was at first utterly 
astonished, and almost shocked, at the sort of way in 
which Arthur read the book, and talked about the men 
and women whose lives were there told. The first night 
they happened to fall on the chapters about the famine 
in Egypt, and Arthur began talking about Joseph as 
if he were a living stat;esman ; just as he might have 


EESULTS OF LESSOX NO. 2. 


241 


talked about Lord Grey and the Beform Bill ; only 
that they were much more living realities to him. The 
book was to him, Tom saw, the most vivid and delight- 
ful history of real people, who might do right or wrong, 
just like any one who was walking about in Eugby — 
the Doctor, or the masters, or the sixth-form boys. 
But the astonishment soon passed off, the scales seemed 
to drop from his eyes, and the book became at once 
and for ever to him the great human and divine book, 
and the men and women, whom he had looked upon 
as something quite different from himself, became his 
friends and counsellors. 

For our purposes, however, the history of one night’s 
reading will be sufficient, which must be told here, now 
we are on the subject, though it didn’t happen till a 
year effterwards, and long after the events recorded in 
the next chapter of our story. 

Arthur, Tom, and East were together one night, and 
read the story of Naaman coming to Elisha to be cured 
of his leprosy. When the chapter was finished, Tom 
shut his Bible with a slap. 

“I can’t stand that fellow Naaman,” said he, "after ' 
what he’d seen and felt, going back and bowing himself 
down in the house of Eimmon, because his effeminate 
scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took the 
trouble to heal him. How he must have despised him.” 

" Yes, there you go off as usual, with a shell on your 
head,” struck in East, who always took the opposite 
side to Tom ; half from love of argument, half from 
conviction. " How do you know he didn’t think better 
of it ? how do you know his master was a scoundrel ? 
His letter don’t look like it, and the book don’t say so.” 

R 


242 


TOM IS STIFF-NECKED. 


“I don’t care/' rejoined Tom; "why did Naaman 
talk about bowin" down, then, if he didn’t mean to 
do it ? He wasn’t likely to get more in earnest when 
he got back to court, and away from the prophet.” 

" Well but, Tom,” said Arthur, " look what Elisha 
says to him, ‘ Go in peace.’ He wouldn’t have said 
that if Naaman had been in the wrong.” 

"I don’t see that that means more than saying, 
* You’re not the man I took you for.’ ” 

“ No, no, that won’t do at all,” said East ; " read 
the words fairly, and take men as you find them. I 
like Naaman, and think he was a very fine fellow.” 

" I don’t,” said Tom, positively, 

"Well, I think East is right,” said Arthur; "I 
can’t see but what it’s right to do the best you can, 
though it mayn’t be the best absolutely. Every man 
isn’t born to be a martyr.” 

" Of course, of course,” said East ; " but he’s on one 
of his pet hobbies. How often have I told you, Tom, 
that you must drive a nail where it’ll go.” 

" And how often have I told you,” rejoined Tom, 
" that it’ll always go where you want, if you only stick 
to it and hit hard enough. I hate half measures and 
compromises.” 

"■ Yes, he’s a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have the 
whole animal, hair and teeth, claws and tail,” laughed 
East. " Sooner have no bread any day than half the loaf.” 

" I don’t know,” said Arthur, " it’s rather puzzling ; 
but ain’t most right things got by proper compromises, 
I mean where the principle isn’t given up ? ” 

" That’s just the point,” said Tom ; " I don’t object to a 
compromise where you don’t give up your principle.” 


THE BKOWN COMPEOMISE. 


243 


" Not you ” said East, laughingly. “ I know him of 
old, Arthur, and you’ll find him out some day. There 
isn’t such a reasonable fellow in the world, to hear 
him talk. He never wants anything hut what’s right 
and fair ; only when you come to settle what’s right 
and fair, it’s everything that he wants, and nothing 
that you want. And that’s his idea of a compromise. 
Give me the Brown compromise when I’m on his 
side.” 

“Now, Harry,” said Tom, “no more chaff — I’m 
serious. Look here — this is what makes my blood 
tingle ; ” and he turned over the pages of his Bible and 
read, “ Sbadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered 
and said to the king, ‘0 Nebuchadnezzar, we are not 
careful to answer thee in this matter. If it he so, our 
God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the 
burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of 
thine hand, 0 king. But if noty be it known unto thee, 
O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship 
the golden image which thou hast set up.’ ” He read 
the last verse twice, emphasizing the nots, and dwell- 
ing on them as if they gave him actual pleasure, and 
were hard to port with. 

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, 
“Yes, that’s a glorious story, but it don’t prove your 
point, Tom, I think. There are times when there is 
only one way, and that the highest, and then the men 
are found to stand in the breach.” 

“ There’s always a highest way, and it’s always the 
right one,” said Tom. “How many times has the 
Doctor told us that in his sermons in the last year, I 
should like to know ? ” 

R 2 


244 


THE BROWN COMPROMISE. 


“ Well, you ain't going to convince us, is he, Arthur ? 
No Brown compromise to-night,” said East; looking at 
his watch. “ But it’s past eight, and we must go to 
first lesson. What a bore ! ” 

So they took down their hooks and Ml to work ; but 
Arthur didn’t forget, and thought long and often over 
the conversation. 



CHAPTER IIL 

AETHUE MAKES A FEIEKD. 

•• Let Nature be your teacher ; 

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; 

Our meddling intellect 

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things 

We murder to dissect — 

Enough of Science and of Art ; 

Close up those barren leaves ; 

Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives,” — Wordswortu. 


i 



BOUT six weeks 
after the beginning 
of the half, as Torn 
and Arthur were 
sitting one night be- 
fore supper begin- 
ning their verses, 
Arthur suddenly- 
stopped, and looked 
up, and said, “ Tom, 
do you know any- 
thing of Martin ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Tom, 
taking his hand out 
of his back hair, 
and delighted to 
throw his Gradus 
ad Parnassum on 





246 TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER. 

to the sofa ; I know him pretty well. He’s a very good 
fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He’s called Madman, 
you know. And never was such a fellow for getting all 
sorts of rum things about him. He tamed two snakes 
last half, and used to carry them about in his pocket, 
and I’ll be bound he’s got some hedgehogs and rats in 
his cupboard now, and no one knows what besides.” 

I should like very much to know him,” said Arthur; 
“ he was next to me in the form to-day, and he’d lost 
his book and looked over mine, and he seemed so kind 
and gentle, that I liked him very much.” 

“Ah, poor old Madman, he’s alw^ays losing his 
books,” said Tom, “ and getting called up and floored 
because he hasn’t got them.” 

“ I like him all the better,” said Arthur. 

“Well, he’s great fun, I can tell you,” said Tom, 
throwing himself back on the sofa, and chuckling at 
the remembrance. “We had such a game with him 
one day last half. He had been kicking up horrid 
stinks for some time in his study, till I suppose some 
fellow told Mary, and she told the Doctor. Anyhow, 
one day a little before dinner, when he came down from 
the library, the Doctor, instead of going home, came 
striding into the Hall. East and I and five or six other 
fellows were at the fire, and preciously we stared, for 
he don’t come in like that once a-year, unless it is a 
wet day and there’s a fight in the Hall. ^East,’ says 
he, ‘just come and show me Martin’s study.’ ‘Oh, 
here’s a game,’ whispered the rest of us, and we all cut 
upstairs after the Doctor, East leading. As we got 
into the New Eow, which was hardly wide enough to hold 
the Doctor and his gown, click, click, click, we heard 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PIIILOSOPHER. 247 

in the old Madman’s den. Then that stopped all of a sud- 
den, and the bolts went to like fun : the Madman knew 
East’s step, and thought there w^as going to be a siege. 

“ ‘ It’s the Doctor, Martin. He’s here and wants to 
see you,’ sings out East. 

“Then the bolts went hack slowly, and the door 
opened, and there was the old Madman standing, look- 
ing precious scared ; his jacket off, his shirt-sleeves up 
to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all covered with 
anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gun- 
powder like a sailor-boy’s, and a stink fit to knock you 
down coming out. ’Twas all the Doctor could do to 
stand his ground, and East and I, who were looking in 
under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie 
was standing on the window-sill, all his feathers droop- 
ing, and looking disgusted and half-poisoned. 

“ ‘ What can you be about, Martin ? ’ says the Doctor ; 
‘ you really mustn’t go on in this way — you’re a nuisance 
to the whole passage.* 

“‘Please, Sir, I was only mixing up this powder, 
there isn’t any harm in it ; ’ and the Madman seized 
nervously on his pestle and mortar, to show the Doctor 
the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went off pounding; 
click, click, click; he hadn’t given six clicks before, 
puff! up went the whole into a great blaze, away went 
the pestle and mortar across the study, and back we 
tumbled into the passage. The magpie fluttered down 
into the court, swearing, and the Madman danced out, 
howling, with his fingers in his mouth. The Doctor 
caught hold of him, and called to us to fetch some water. 
‘ There, you silly fellow,’ said he, quite pleased though 
to find lie wasn’t much hurt, ‘ you see you don’t know 


248 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PIIILOSOPHEB. 


the least what you're doing with all these things ; and 
now, mind, you must give up practising chemistry by 
yourself.’ Then he took hold of his arm and looked at 
it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes twin- 
kled ; but he said, quite grave, ' Here, you see, you’ve 
been making all these foolish marks on yourself, which 
you can never get out, and you’ll be very sorry for it in 
a year or two : now come down to the housekeeper’s 
room, and let us see if you are hurt.’ And away went 
the two, and we all stayed and had a regular turn-out 
of the den, till Martin came back with his hand ban- 
daged and turned us out. However, I’ll go and see what 
he’s after, and tell him to come in after prayers to sup- 
per.” And away went Tom to find the boy in question, 
who dwelt in a little study by himself, in Hew Eow. 

The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such 
a fancy for, was one of those unfortunates who were at 
that time of day (and are, I fear, still) quite out of their 
places at a public school. If we knew how to use our 
boys, Martin would have been seized upon and educated 
as a natural pliilosopher. He had a passion for birds, 
beasts, and insects, and knew more of them and their 
habits than any one in Eugby; except perhaps the 
Doctor, who knew everything. He was also an experi- 
mental chemist on a small scale, and had made unto 
himself an electric machine, from which it was his 
greatest ph^asure and glory to administer small shocks 
to any small boys who were rash enough to venture 
into his study. And this was by no means an adven- 
ture free from excitement ;* for, besides the probability 
of a snake dropping on to your head or twining lovingly 
up your leg, or a rat getting into your breeches -pocket 


mOUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHEB. 


249 


in search of food, there was the animal and chemical 
odour to he faced, which always hung about the den, 
and the chance of being blown up in some of the many 
experiments which Martin was always trying, with the 
most wondrous results in the shape of explosions and 
smells that mortal boy ever heard of. Of course, poor 
Martin, in consequence of his pursuits, had become an 
Ishmaelite in the house. In the first place, he half- 
poisoned all his. neighbours, and they in turn were 
always on the look-out to pounce upon any of his nu- 
merous live-stock, and drive him frantic by enticing his 
pet old magpie out of his window into a neighbouring 
study, and making the disreputable old bird drunk on 
toast soaked in beer and sugar. Then Martin, for his 
sins, inhabited a study looking into a small court some 
ten feet across, the window of which was completely 
commanded by those of the studies opposite in the 
Sick-room Eow, these latter being at a slightly higher 
elevation. East, and another boy of an equally tor- 
menting and ingenious turn, of mind, now lived exactly 
opposite, and had expended huge pains and time in the 
preparation of instruments of annoyance for the behoof 
of Martin and his live colony. One morning an old 
basket made its appearance, suspended by a short cord 
outside Martin’s window, in which were deposited an 
amateur nest containing four young hungry jaclidaws, 
the pride and glory of Martin’s life for the time being, 
and which he was currently asserted to have hatched 
upon his own person. Early in the morning, and late 
at night he was to be seen half out of window, adminis- 
tering to the varied wants of his callow brood. After 
deep cogitation. East and his chum had spliced a knife 


250 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER. 


onto tlje end of a fishing-rod; and having watched 
Martin out, had, after half-an-hour’s severe sawing, cut 
the string by which the basket was suspended, and 
tumbled it on to the pavement below, with hideous 
remonstrance from the occupants. Poor Martin, re- 
turning from his short absence, collected the fragments 
and replaced his brood (except one whose neck had been 
broken in the descent) in their old location, suspending 
them this time by string and wire twisted together, 
defiant of any sharp instrument which his persecutors 
could command. But, like the Russian engineers at 
Sebastopol, East and his churn had an answer for every 
move of the adversary ; and the next day had mounted 
a gun in the shape of a pea-shooter upon the ledge of 
their window, trained so as to bear exactly upon the 
spot which Martin had to occupy while tending his 
nurselings. The moment he began to feed, they began 
to shoot ; in vain did the enemy himself invest in a pea- 
shooter, and endeavour to answer the fire while he fed 
the young birds with his other hand ; his attention was 
divided, and his shots flew wild, while every one of theirs 
told on his face and hands, and drove him into bowlings 
and imprecations. He had been driven to ensconce the 
nest in a corner of his already too well-filled den. 

His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts 
of his own invention, for the sieges were frequent by the 
neighbours when any unusually ambrosial odour spread 
itself from the den to the neighbouring studies. The 
door panels were in a normal state of smash, but the 
frame of the door resisted all besiegers, and behind it 
the owner carried on his varied pursuits ; much in the 
same state of mind, I should fancy, as a Border-farmer 


THE PHILOSOPHEK’S DEN. 


251 


lived in, in the days of the old mosstroopers, wlien his 
hold might he summoned or his cattle carried otf at any 
minute of night or day. 

Open, Martin, old boy — it's only I, Tom Brown.” 

“ Oh, very well, stop a moment.” One bolt went 
back. “You’re sure East isn’t there?” 

“ No, no, hang it, open.” . Tom gave a kick, the 
other bolt creaked, and he entered the den. 

Den indeed it was, about five feet six inches long 
by five wide, and seven feet high. About six tattered 
schoolbooks, and a few chemical books, Taxidermy, 
Stanley on Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, the 
latter in much better preservation, occupied the top 
shelves. The other shelves, where they had not been 
cut away and used by the owner for other purposes, 
were fitted up for the abiding places of birds, beasts 
and reptiles. There was no attempt at carpet or curtain. 
The table was entirely occupied by the great work of 
Martin, the electric machine, which was covered care- 
fully with the remains of his table-cloth. The jackdaw 
cage occupied one wall, and the other was adorned by 
a small hatchet, a pair of climbing irons, and his tin 
candle-box, in which he was for the time being endea- 
vouring to raise a hopeful young family of field-mice. 
As nothing should be let to lie useless, it was welbthat 
the candle-box was thus occupied, for candles Martin 
never had. A pound was issued to him weekly as, to 
the other boys, but as candles were available capital, 
and easily exchangeable for birds’-eggs or young birds, 
Martin’s pound invariably found its way in a few hours 
to Howlett’s the bird-fancier’s, in the Bilton Eoad, who 
would give a hawk’s or nightingale’s egg or young 


252 


THE INVITATION. 


linnet in exchange. Martin’s ingenuity was therefore 
for ever on the rack to supply himself with a light; just 
now he had hit upon a grand invention, and the den was 
lighted by a flaring cotton-wick issuing from a ginger- 
beer bottle full of some doleful composition. When light 
altogether failed him, Martin would loaf about by the 
fires in the passages or Hall, after the manner of Diggs, 
and try to do his verses or learn his lines by the fire-light. 

‘'Well, old boy, you haven’t got any sweeter in the 
den this half. How that stuff in the bottle stinks. 
Never mind, I ain’t going to stop, but you come up 
after prayeis to our study; you know young Arthur; 
we’ve got Gray’s study. We’ll have a good supper and 
talk about birds’-nesting.” 

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, 
and promised to be up without fail. 

As soon as prayers were over, and the sixth and fifth- 
form boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion 
of their own room, and the rest, or democracy, had sat 
down to their supper in the Hall, Tom and Arthur, 
having secured their allowances of bread and cheese, 
started on their feet to catch the eye of the praepostor 
of the week, who remained in charge during supper, 
walking up and down the Hall. He happened to be 
an easy-going fellow, so they got a pleasant nod to 
their “ Please may I go out ? ” and away they scram- 
bled to prepare for Martin a sumptuous banquet. This 
Tom had insisted on, for he was in great delight on 
the occasion; the reason of which delight must be 
expounded. The fact w^as, this was the first attempt 
at a friendship of his own which Arthur had made, and 
Tom hailed it as a grand step. The ease with which 


tom’s wokk. 


253 


he himself became hail-fellow-well-met with anybody, 
and blundered into and out of twenty friendships a half 
year, made him sometimes sorry and sometimes *angry 
at Arthur’s reserve and loneliness. True, Arthur was 
always pleasant, and even jolly, with any boys who 
came with Tom to their study ; but Tom felt that it was 
only through him, as it were, that his' chum associated 
with others, and that but for him Arthur would have 
been dwelling in a wilderness. This increased his con- 
sciousness of responsibility ; and though he hadn’t 
reasoned it out and made it clear to himself, yet some- 
how he knew that this responsibility, this trust which 
he had taken on him without thinking about it, head- 
over-heels in fact, was the centre and turning-point of 
his school-life, that which was to make him or mar 
him; his appointed work and trial for the time being. 
And Tom was becoming a new boy, though with fre- 
quent tumbles in the dirt and perpetual hard battle 
with himself, and was daily growing in manfulness and 
thoughtfulness, as every high-couraged and well -prin- 
cipled boy must, when he finds himself for the first time 
consciously at grips with self and the devil. Already 
he could turn almost without a sigh, from the school- 
gates, from which had just scampered olT East and three 
or four others of his own particular set, bound foi^ some 
jolly lark not quite according to law, and involving 
jjrobably a row with louts, keepers, or farm -labourers, 
the skipping dinner or calling-over, some of Phoebe 
Jennings’ beer, and a very possible flogging at the end 
of all as a relish. He had quite got over the stage in 
which he would grumble to himself, “Well, hang it, it’s 
very hard of the Doctor to have saddled me with Arthur. 


254 


THE SUPPER. 


Why couldn’t he have chummed him with Fogey, or 
Thomkin, or any of the fellows who never do anything 
but walk round the close, and finish their copies the first 
day they’re set ?” But although all this was past, he 
often longed, and felt that he was right in longing, for 
more time for the legitimate pastimes of cricket, fives, 
bathing, and fishing within bounds, in which Arthur 
could not yet be his companion; and he felt that when 
the young ’un (as he now generally called him) had 
found a pursuit and some other friend for himself, he 
should be able to give more time to the education of his 
own body with a clear conscience. 

And now what he so wished for had come to pass ; 
he almost hailed it as a special providence (as indeed it 
was, but not for the reasons he gave for it — what provi- 
dences are ?) that Arthur should have singled out Martin 
of all fellows for a friend. “ The old Madman is the 
very fellow,” thought he ; “ he will take him scrambling 
over half the country after birds’ eggs and flowers, make 
him run and swim and climb like an Indian, and not 
teach him a word of anything bad, or keep him from 
his lessons. What luck!” And so, with more than 
his usual heartiness, he dived into his cupboard, and 
hauled out an old knuckle-bone of hard, and two or three 
bottles of beer, together with the solemn pewter only 
used on state occasions; while Arthur, e:iually elated 
at the easy accomplishment of his first act of volition in 
the joint establishment, produced from his side a bottle 
of pickles and a pot of jam, and cleared the table. In 
a minute or two the noise of the boys coming up from 
supper was heard, and Martin knocked and was admitted, 
bearing his bread and cheese, and the three fell to with 


THE SUPPER. 


255 


hearty good-will upon the viands, talking faster than 
they ate, for all shyness disappeared in a moment be- 
fore Tom’s bottled beer and hospitable ways. “ Here’s 
Arthur, a regular young town mouse, with a natural 
taste for the woods, Martin, longing to break his neck 
climbing trees, and with a passion for young snakes.” 

“ Well, I say,” sputtered out Martin, eagerly, “ will 
you come to-morrow, both of you, to Caldecott’s Spinney, 
then, for I know of a kestrel’s nest, up a fir-tree — I 
can’t get at it without help; and, Brown, you can 
climb against any one.” 

“ Oh yes, do let us go,” said Arthur ; ** I never saw 
a hawk’s nest, nor a hawk’s egg.” 

“You just come down to my study then, and I’ll 
show you five sorts,” said Martin. 

“ Ay, the old Madman has got the best collection 
in the house, out-and-out,” said Tom ; and then Martin, 
warming with unaccustomed good cheer and the chance 
of a convert, launched out into^a proposed birds’-nesting 
campaign, betraying all manner of important secrets; 
a golden-crested wren’s nest near Butlin’s Mound, a 
moor-hen that was sitting on nine eggs in a pond down 
the Barby Hoad, and a kingfisher’s nest in a corner of 
the old canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard, 
he said, that no one had ever got a kingfisher’s nest out 
perfect, and that the British Museum, or the Govern- 
ment, or somebody, had offered £100 to any one who 
could bring them a nest and eggs not damaged. In 
the middle of which astounding announcemont, to 
which the others were listening with open ears, already 
considering the application of the £100, a knock came at 
the door, and East’s voice was heard craving admittance. 


256 


THE SUPPER. 


“There’s Harry,” said Tom; “we’ll let him in — I’ll 
keep him steady, Martin. I thought the old boy would 
smell out the supper.” 

The fact was that Tom’s heart had already smitten 
him for not asking his “ fidus Achates ” to the feast, 
although only an extempore affair ; and though prudence 
and the desire to get Martin and Arthur together alone 
at first had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily 
glad to open the door, broach another bottle of beer, and 
hand over the old ham-knuckle to the searching of his 
old fiiend’s pocket-knife. 

“Ah, you greedy vagabonds,” said East, with his 
mouth full ; “ I knew there was something going on 
when I saw you cut off out of Hall so quick with your 
suppers. What a stunning tap, Tom ! you are a wunner 
for bottling the swipes.” 

“ I’ve had practice enough for the sixth in my time, 
and it’s hard if I haven’t picked up a wrinkle or two for 
my own benefit.” 

“ Well, old Madman, how goes the birds’-nesting cam- 
paign ? How’s Howlett ? I expect the young rooks’ll 
be out in another fortnight, and then my turn comes.” 

“ There’ll be no young rooks fit for pies for a month 
yet ; shows how much you know about it,” rejoined 
Martin, who, though very good friends with East, 
regarded him witli considerable suspicion for his pro- 
pensity to practical jokes. 

“ Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but 
grub and mischief,” said Tom ; “ but young rook pie, 
specially when you’ve had to climb for them, is very 
pretty eating. However, I say. Scud, we’re all going 
after a hawk’s nest to-morrow, in Caldecott’s Spinney; 


VULGUSES. 257 

and if 3WII come and behave yourself, we’ll have a 
stunning climb.” 

** And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray ! I’m your man ! ” 
Ho, no ; no bathing in Aganippe ; that’s where 
our betters go.” 

“ Well, well, never mind. I’m for the hawk’s nest 
and anything that turns up.” 

And the bottled-beer being finished, and his hunger 
appeased. East departed to his study, “ that sneak 
Jones,” as he informed them, who had just got into the 
sixth and occupied the next study, having instituted a 
nightly visitation upon East and his chum, to their no 
small discomfort. 

When he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but Tom 
stopped him. “ Ho one goes near Hew Eow,” said he, 

so you may just as well stop here and do your verses, 
and then we’ll have some more talk. We’ll be no 
end quiet ; besides, no praepostor comes here now — we 
haven’t been visited once this half.” 

So the table was cleared, the cloth restored, and the 
three fell to work with Gradus and dictionary upon the 
morning’s vulgus. 

They were three very fair examples of the way in 
which such tasks were done at Eugby, in the consulship 
of Plancus. And doubtless the method is little changed, 
for there is nothing new under the sun, especially at 
schools. 

How be it known unto all you boys who are at schools 
which do not rejoice in the time-honoured institution of 
the Vulgus, (commonly supposed to have been established 
by William of Wykeham at Winchester, and imported 
to Eugby by Arnold, more for the sake of the lines 


258 


VULGUSES. 


'which were learnt hy heart with it, than for its own 
intrinsic value, as I’ve always understood) that it is 
a short exercise, in Greek or Latin verse, on a given 
subject, the minimum number of lines being fixed for 
each form. The master of the form gave out at fourth 
lesson on the previous day the subject for next morning’s 
vulgus, and at first lesson each boy had to bring his 
\ulgus ready to be looked over; and with the vulgus, 
a certain number of lines from one of the Latin or 
Greek poets then being construed in the form had to 
be got by heart. The master at first lesson called up 
each boy in the form in order, and put him on in the 
lines. If he couldn’t say them, or seem to say them, 
by reading them off the master’s or some other boy’s 
book who stood near, he was sent back, and went below 
all the boys who did so say or seem to say them; but 
in either case his vulgus was looked over by the master, 
who gave and entered in his book, to the credit or 
discredit of the boy, so many marks as the composition 
merited. At Eugby vulgus and lines were the first 
lesson every other day in the week, or Tuesdays, Thurs- 
days, and Saturdays; and as there were thirty-eight 
weeks in the school year, it is obvious to the meanest 
capacity that the master of each form had to set one 
hundred and fourteen subjects every year, two hundred 
and twenty-eight every two years, and so on. Now to 
persons of moderate invention this was a considerable 
task, and human nature being prone to repeat itself, it 
will not be wondered that the masters gave the same 
subjects sometimes over again after a certain lapse of 
time. To meet and rebuke this bad habit of the mas- 
ters, the school-boy-miiid, with its accustomed ingenuity. 


VULGUSES. 


259 


had invented an elaborate system of tradition. Almost 
every boy kept his own vulgiis written out in a book, 
and these books were duly handed down from boy to 
boy, till (if the tradition has gone on till now) I suppose 
the popular boys, in whose hands bequeathed vulgus- 
books have accumulated, are prepared with three or four 
vulguses on any subject in heaven or earth, or in “ more 
worlds than one,” which an unfortunate master can pitch 
upon. At any rate, such lucky fellows had generally 
one for themselves and one for a friend in my time. 
The only objection to the traditionary method of doing 
your vulguses was, the risk that the successions might 
have become confused, and so that you and another 
follower of traditions should show up the’ same identical 
vulgus some fine morning; in which case, when it 
happened, considerable grief was the result — but when 
did such risk hinder boys or men from short cuts and 
pleasant paths ? 

Now in the study that night, Tom was the upholder 
of the traditionary method of vulgus doing. He care- 
fully produced two large vulgus-books, and began diving 
into them, and picking out a line here, and an ending 
there (tags, as they were vulgarly called), till he had 
"otten all that he thought he could make fit. He then 
proceeded to patch his tags together with the help of 
his Gradus, producing an incongruous and feeble result 
of eight elegiac lines, the minimum quantity for his 
form, and finishing up with two highly moral lines extra, 
making ten in all, which he cribbed entire from one of 
his books, beginning “ 0 genus humanum,” and which 
he himself must have used a dozen times before, when- 
ever an unfortunate or wicked hero, of whatever nation 


260 


THE SCIENCE OF VERSE-MAKING. 


or language under the sun, was the subject. Indeed, 
he began to have great doubts whether the master 
wouldn’t remember them, and so only threw them in as 
extra lines, because in any case they would call off 
attention from the other tags, and if detected, being 
extra lines, he wouldn’t be sent back to do two more in 
their place, while if they passed muster again he would 
get marks for them. 

The second method pursued by Martin may be called 
the dogged, or prosaic method. He, no more than 
Tom, took any pleasure in the task, but having no 
old vulgus-books of his own, or any one’s else, could 
not follow the traditionary method, for which too, as 
Tom remarked, he hadn’t the genius. Martin then 
proceeded to write down eight lines in English, of the 
most matter-of fact kind, the first that came into his 
a nd to convert these, line by line, by main force 
of Gradus and dictionary, into Latin that would scan. 
This was all he cared for, to produce eight lines with 
no false quantities or concords : whether the words were 
apt, or what the sense was, mattered nothing ; and, as 
the article was all new, not a line beyond the minimum 
did the followers of the dogged method ever produce. 

The third, or artistic method, was Arthur’s. He 
considered first what point in the character or event 
which was the subject could most neatly be brought out 
within the limits of a vulgus, trying always to get his 
idea into the eight lines, but not binding himself to ten 
or even twelve lines if he couldn’t do this. He then 
set to work, as much as possible without Gradus or other 
help, to clothe his idea in appropriate Latin or Greek, 
and would not be satisfied till he had polished it well 


martin’s den. 261 

up with the aptest and most poetic words and phrases 
he could get at. 

A fourth method indeed was used in the school, but 
of too simple a kind to require a comment. It may be 
called the vicarious method, obtained amongst big boys 
of lazy or bullying habits, and consisted simply in 
making clever boys whom they could thrash do their 
whole vulgus for them, and construe it to them after- 
wards ; which latter is a method not to be encouraged, 
and which I strongly advise you all not to practise. 
Of the others, you will find the traditionary most 
troublesome, unless you can steal your vulguses whole 
(experto crede), and that the artistic method pays the 
best both in marks and other ways. 

The vulguses being finished by nine o’clock, and 
Martin having rejoiced above measure in the abundance 
of light, and of Gradus and dictionary, and other con- 
veniences almost unknown to him for getting through 
the work, and having been pressed by Arthur to come 
and do his verses there whenever he liked, the three 
boys went down to Martin’s den, and Arthur was ini- 
tiated into the lore of bird’s -eggs, to his great delight. 
The exquisite colouring and forms astonished and 
charmed him who had scarcely ever seen any but a 
hen’s egg or an ostrich’s, and by the time he was lugged 
away to bed he had learned the names of at least 
twenty sorts, and dreamt of the glorious perils of tree- 
climbing and that he had found a roc’s egg in the 
island as big as Sinbad’s and clouded like a tit-lark’s, 
in blowing which Martin and he had nearly been 
drowned in the yolk. 


■202 


TOM PUT OUT. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE BIED-FANCIEES. 

1 have found out a gift for my fair, 

I Iwve found where the wood-pigeons breed : 
But let me the plunder forbear. 

She would say ’twas a barbarous deed,” 

Rows. 

And now, my lad, take them five shilling. 

And on my advice in future think ; 

So Billy pouched them all so willing. 

And got that night disguised in drink.” 

MS. Ballad. 



HE next morning at 
first lesson Tom was 
turned back in liis 
lines, and so had to 
wait till the second 
round, while Martin 
and Arthur said 
theirs all right and 
got out of school at 
once. When Tom 
got out and ran 
down_ to breakfast 
at Harrowell’s they 
were missing, and 
Stumps informed 
him that they had 
swallowed down 
their breakfasts and 
gone off together* 


TOM PUT OUT. 


263 


where, he couldn’t say. Tom hurried over his own 
breakfast, and went first to Martin’s study and then to 
his own, but no signs of the missing boys were to be 
found. He felt half angry and jealous of Martin — 
where could they be gone ? 

He learnt second lesson with East and the rest in no 
very good temper, and then went out into the quad- 
rangle. About ten minutes before school Martin and 
Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless ; and, 
catching sight of him, Arthur rushed up all excitement 
and with a bright glow on his face. 

“ Oh, Tom, look here,” cried he, holding out three 
moor-hen’s eggs; “we’ve been down the Barby Road 
to the pool Martin told us of last night, and just see 
what we’ve got.” 

Tom wouldn’t be pleased, and only looked out for 
something to find fault with. 

“Why, young un,” said he, “what have you been 
after? You don’t mean to say you’ve been wading?” 

The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur 
shrink up in a moment and look piteous, and Tom 
with a shrug of his shoulders turned his anger on 
Martin. 

“Well, I didn’t think. Madman, that you’d have 
been such a muff as to let him be getting wet through 
at this time of day. You might have done the wading 
yourself.” 

“ So I did, of course, only he would come in too to 
see the nest. We left six eggs in ; they’ll be hatched 
in a day or two.” 

“ Hang the eggs ! ” said Tom ; “ a fellow can’t turn 
his back for a moment but all his work’s undone. 


264 bird’s nesting. 

He’ll be laid up for a week for this precious lark, I’ll 
•be bound.” 

Indeed, Tom, now,” pleaded Arthur, "'iny feet 
ain’t wet, for Martin made me take off my shoes and 
stockings and trousers.” 

‘'But they are wet and dirty, too — canft I see?” 
answered Tom ; “ and you’ll be called up and floored 
when the master sees what a state you’re in. You 
haven’t looked at second lesson, you know.” Oh Tom, 
you old humbug ! you to be upbraiding any one with 
not learning their lessons ! If you hadn’t been floored 
yourself now at first lesson, do you mean to say you 
wouldn’t have been with them. ? and you’ve taken away 
all poor little Arthur’s joy and pride in his first birds’ 
eggs ; and he goes and puts them down in the study, 
and takes down his books with a sigh, thinking he has 
done something horribly wrong, whereas he has learnt on 
in advance much more than will be done at second 
lesson. 

But the old. Madman hasn’t, and gets called up and 
makes some frightful shots, losing about ten places, and 
all but getting floored. This somewhat appeases Tom’s 
wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has regained his 
temper. And afterwards in their study he begins to 
get right again, as he watches Arthur’s intense joy at 
seeing Martin blowing the eggs and glueing them care- 
fully on to bits of cardboard, and notes the anxious 
loving looks which the little fellow casts sidelong at 
him. And then he thinks, “ What an ill-tempered 
beast I am ! Here’s just what I was wishing for last 
night come about, and I’m spoiling it all,” and in another 
five minutes has swallowed the last mouthful of his 


bird’s nesting. 


2G5 


bile, and is repaid by seeing his little sensitive-plant 
expand again, and sun itself in his smiles. 

After dinner the Madman is busy with the prepara- 
tions for their expedition, fitting new straps on to his 
climbing irons, filling large pill-boxes witb cotton wool, 
and sharpening East’s small axe. They carry all their 
munitions into calling-over, and directly afterwards, 
having dodged such praepostors as are on the look-out 
lor fags at cricket, the four set off at a smart trot down 
the Lawford footpath straight for Caldecott’s Spinney 
and the hawk’s nest. 

Martin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a 
new sensation to him getting companions, and he finds 
it very pleasant, and means to show them all manner of 
proofs of his science and skill. Brown and East may 
be better at cricket and football and games, thinks he, 
but out in the fields and woods see if I can’t teach them 
something. He has taken the leadership already, and 
strides away in front with his climbing-irons strapped 
under one arm, his pecking-bag under the other, and 
his pockets and hat full of pill-boxes, cotton wool, and 
other etceteras. Each of the others carries a pecking- 
bag, and East his hatchet. 

When they had crossed three or four fields without a 
check, Arthur began to lag, and Tom seeing this 
shouted to Martin to pull up a bit : We ain’t out 
Hare-and-hounds — what’s the good of grinding on at 
this rate ? ” 

“ There’s the Spinney,” said Martin, pulling up on 
the brow of a slope at the bottom of which lay Lawford 
brook, and pointing to the top of the opposite slope ; 
“ the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at this end. 


2G6 


bird’s nesting. 


And down by the brook there, I know of a sedge-bird’s 
nest ; we’ll go and look at it coming back.” 

“ Oh, come on, don’t let us stop,” said Arthur, who 
was getting excited at the sight of the wood ; so they 
broke into a trot again, and were soon across the brook, 
up tlie slope, and into the Spinney. Here they advanced 
as noiselessly as possible, lest keepers or other enemies 
should be about, and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, 
at the top of which Martin pointed out with pride the 
kestrel’s nest, the object of their quest. 

“Oh where! which is it?” asks Arthur, gaping up 
in the air, and having the most vague idea of what 
it would be like. 

“There, don’t you see?” said East, pointing to a 
lump of misletoe in the next tree, which was a beech • 
he saw that Martin and Tom were busy with the 
climbing-irons, and couldn’t resist the temptation of 
hoaxing. Arthur stared and wondered more than ever. 

“ Well, how curious ! it doesn’t look a bit like what 
I expected,” said he. 

“Very odd birds, kestrels,” said East, looking wag- 
gishly at his victim, who was still star-gazing. 

“But I thought it was in a fir-tree?” objected 
Arthur. 

“ Ah, don’t you know ? that’s a new sort of fir, 
which old Caldecott brought from the Himalayas.” 

“ Eeally ! ” said Arthur ; “ I’m glad I know that— 
how unlike our firs they are ! They do very well too 
here, don’t they ? the Spinney’s full of them.” 

“ What’s that humbug he’s telling you ? ” cried 
Tom, looking up, having caught the word Himalayas, 
and suspecting what East was after. 


bird’s nesting. 267 

** Only alDOut this fir ” said Arthur, putting his hand 
on the stem of the beech. 

“Fir I” shouted Torn, why, you don’t mean to 
say, young ’un, you don’t know a beech when you 
see one ? ” 

Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and East 
exploded in laugliter which made the wood ring. 

“ I’ve hardly ever seen any trees,” faltered Arthur. ‘ 

“What a shame to hoax him. Scud ! ” cried Martin. 
“ Never, mind, Arthur, you shall know more about trees 
than he does in a week or two.” 

“ And isn’t that the kestrel’s nest, then ? ” asked 
Arthur. 

“ That ! why, that’s a piece of mistletoe. There’s 
the nest, that lump of sticks up this fir.” 

“ Don’t believe him, Arthur,” struck in the incor- 
rigible East; “I just saw an old magpie go out 
of it.” 

Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by 
a grunt, as he buckled the last buckle of his climbing- 
irons ; and Arthur looked reproachfully at East without 
speaking. 

But now came the tug of war. It was a very diffi- 
cult tree to climb until the branches were reached, the 
first of which was some fourteen feet up, for the trunk 
was too large at the bottom to be swarmed ; in fact, 
neither of the boys could reach more than half round it 
with their arms. Martin and Tom, both of whom had 
irons on, tried it without success at first ; the fir bark 
broke away where they stuck the irons in as soon as 
they leant any weight on their feet, and the grip of 
their arms wasn’t enough to keep them up ; so, after 


268 


bird's nesting. 


getting up three or four feet, down they came slithering 
to the ground, barking their arms and faces. They 
were furious, and East sat by laughing and shouting 
at each failure, “ Two to one on the old magpie ! ” 

“ We must try a pyramid,” said Tom at last. 
“ Now, Scud, you lazy rascal, stick yourself against 
the tree I ” 

I dare say ! and have you standing on my shoul- 
ders with the irons on : what do you think my skin's 
made of?” However, up he goV and leant against 
the tree, putting his head down and clasping it with his 
arms as far as he could. “ Now then. Madman,” said 
Tom, “ you next.” 

"No, I’m lighter than you ; you go next.” So Tom 
got on East’s shoulders, and grasped the tree above, 
and then Martin scrambled up on Tom’s shoulders, 
amidst the totterings and groanings of the pyramid, 
and, with a spring which sent his supporters howling to 
the ground, clasped the stem some ten feet up, and 
remained clinging. For a moment or two they thought 
he couldn’t get up, but then, holding on with arms and 
teeth, he worked first one iron, then the other, firmly 
into the bark, got another grip with his arms, and in 
another minute had hold of the lowest branch. 

“All up with the old magpie now,” said East; and, 
after a minute’s rest, up went Martin, hand over hand, 
watched by Arthur with fearful eagerness. 

“ Isn’t it very dangerous ? ” said he. 

" Not a bit,” answered Tom ; " you can’t hurt if you 
only get good hand-hold. Try every branch with a 
good pull before you trust it, and then up you go.” 

Martin was now amongst the small branches close to 



CLIMDING THE FIR-TREE AFTER THE KESTREL’S NEST, 


P. 263. 








* • 





-y f' 


«•# 


‘#v 


I 




w 




1 « •. 


* i' 



T 


V 


s''* 


■ i 


*i< • 




. *, 





«K 





« t 



t . 


^ ‘ >* 

-H} - ' 


-)r 


.,^,.* - .•*- • 


r*» 






■f«r: 


' ^ * 


.2 ■ 


. t • -'. 




^ ' 


1 ^ ^ • • • 


N -• 


* % * ♦ 


% ; 




•c* f ^ * 


• <- V '- • « V :< , , » 

Jlr A. /n^ ,• 

A- '‘-t •'■‘^ - • ’• ' > 

Lit - < '•'4 "T . • • *r\' /*v* 

-I C - ••,' ;->.'-Ji^ 

■ . ■» ‘ •■•. /- A K • -■' 

• L *'-•« * X."-« ••. 

' ' ►-. “ 'w - .-X'>' • -, ' 


' ^ 


* . > 



y . #■ 




• « 


- '-A 


. •> 




♦ - ^ *V * • * 





bird’s nesting. 269 

the nest, and away dashed the old bird, and soared up 
above the trees, watching the intruder. 

" All right — four eggs ! ” shouted he. 

“ Take ’em all ! ” shouted East ; ** that’ll be one 
apiece.” 

“No, no ! leave one, and then she won’t care,” said 
Tom. 

We boys had an idea that birds couldn’t count, and 
were quite content as long as you left one egg. I hope 
it is so. 

Martin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes 
and the third into his mouth, the only other place of 
safety, and came down like a lamplighter. All went 
well till he was within ten feet of the guound, when, as 
the trunk enlarged, his hold got less and less firm, and 
at last down he came with a run, tumbling on to his 
back on the turf, spluttering and spitting out the 
remains of the great egg, which had broken by the jar 
of his fall. 

" Ugh, ugh — something to drink— ugh ! it was 
addled,” spluttered he, while the wood rang again with 
the merry laughter of East and Tom. 

Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their 
things, and went off to the brook, where Martin swal- 
lowed huge draughts of water to get rid of the taste; 
and they visited the sedge-bird’s nest, and from thence 
struck across the country in high glee, beating the 
hedges and brakes as they went along ; and Arthur at 
last, to his intense delight, was allowed to climb a small 
hedgerow oak for a magpie’s nest with Tom, who kept 
all round him like a mother, and showed him wher^ to 
hold and how to throw his weight ; and though he was 


270 


PECKING, 


in a great fright, didn't show it ; and was applauded by 
all for hi'6 lissomness. 

They crossed a road soon afterwards, and there close 
to them lay a heap of charming pebbles, 

“ Look here,” shouted East, “ here’s luck ! I’ve been 
longing for some good honest pecking this half hour. 
Let’s fill the bags, and have no more of tliis foozling 
bird’s-nesting.” 

No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag 
he carried full of stones: they crossed into the next 
field, Tom and East taking one side of the hedges, and 
the other two the other side. Noise enough they made 
certainly, but it was too early in the season for the 
young birds, and the old birds were too strong on the 
wing for our young marksmen, and flew out of shut 
after the first discharge. But it was great fun, rushing 
along the hedgerows, and discharging stone after stone 
at blackbirds and chaffinches, though no result in the 
shape of slaughtered birds was obtained: and Arthur 
soon entered into it, and rushed to head back the birds, 
and shouted, and threw, and tumbled into ditches and 
over and through hedges, as wild as the Madman 
himself. 

Presently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird 
(who was evidently used to the thing and enjoyed the 
fun, for he would wait till they came close to him and 
then fly on for forty yards or so, and, with an impudent 
flicker of his tail, dart into the depths of the quickset)’ 
came beating down a high double hedge, two on 
each side. 

“’There he is again,” “ Head him,” “ Let drive,” 
‘ I had him there,” “ Take care where you’re thr wing, 


WHAT IS LARCENY? 


271 


Madman,” the shouts might have been heard a quarter 
of a mile off. They were heard some two hundred 
yards off by a farmer and two of his shepherds, who 
were doctoring sheep in a fold in the next field. 

Now, the farmer in question rented a house and yard 
situate at the end of the field in which the young bird- 
fanciers had arrived, which house and yard he didn’t 
occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like a 
brainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in main- 
taining on the premises a large stock of cocks, hens, 
and other poultry. Of course, all sorts of depredators 
visited the place from time to time : foxes and gipsies 
wrouglit havoc in the night ; while in the day time, 
I regret to have to confess that visits from the Rugby 
boys, and consequent disappearances of ancient and 
respectable fowls, were not un frequent. Tom and East 
had during the period of their outlawry visited the barn 
in question for felonious purposes, and on one occasion 
had conquered and slain a duck there, and borne away 
the carcase triumphantly, hidden in their handkerchiefs. 
However, they weie sickened of the practice by the 
trouble and anxiety which the wretched duck’s body 
caused them. They carried it to Sally Harrowell’s in 
hopes of a good supper ; but she, after examining it, made 
a long face, and refused to dress or have anything to 
do with it. Then they took it into their study, and 
began plucking it themselves ; but what to do with the 
feathers, — where to hide them ? 

“ Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck 
has ! ” groaned East, holding a bagful in his hand, and 
looking disconsolately at the carcase, not yet -half 
plucked. 


272 


THE TROUBLESOME DUCK. 


“ And I do thiolc he’s getting high too, already,” 
said Tom, smelling at him cautiously, “ so we must 
finish him np soon.” 

“ Yes, all very well ; hut how are we to cook him ? 
I’m sure I ain’t going to try it on in the hall or 
passages; we can’t afford to be roasting ducks about, 
our character’s too had.” 

I wish we were rid of the brute,” said Tom, throw- 
ing him on the table in disgust. And after a day or 
two more it became clear that got rid of he must be ; 
so they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, 
and put him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, 
where he was found in the holidays by the matron, 
a grewsome body. 

They had never been duck-hunting there since, but 
others had, and the bold yeoman was very sore on the 
subject, and bent on making an example of the first 
boys he could catch. So he aiul his shepherds crouched 
behind the hurdles, and watched the party, who were 
approaching all unconscious. 

Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the 
hedge just at this particular moment of all the year ? 
Who can say ? Guinea-fowls always are — so are all 
other things, animals, and persons, requisite for getting 
one into scrapes, always ready when any mischief can 
come of them. At any rate, just under East’s nose 
popped out the old guinea-hen, scuttling along and 
shrieking “ Come back, come back,” at the top of her 
voice. Either of the other three might perhaps have 
withstood the temptation, but East first lets drive the 
stone he has in his hand at her, and then rushes to turn 
her into the hedge again. He succeeds, and then they 


A SUDDEN FLIGHT. 


273 


are all at it for dear life, up and down the hedge in full 
cry, the Come back, come back,” getting shriller and 
fainter every minute. 

Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the 
hurdles and creep down tlie hedge towards the scene 
of action. They are almost within a stone’s throw of 
Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when 
Tom catches sight. of them, and sings out, “Lfouts, 
*ware louts, your side ! Madman, look ahead ! ” and 
then catching hold of Arthur, hurries him away across 
the field towards Kugby as hard as they can tear. 
Had he b^en by himself, he would have stayed to see it 
ojat with the others, but now his heart sinks and all his 
pluck goes. The idea of being led up to the Doctor 
with Arthur for bagging fowls, quite unmans and takes 
half the run out of him. 

However, no boys are more able to take care of 
themselves than East and Martin; they dodge the 
pursuers, slip through a gap, and come pelting after 
Tom and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time ; the 
farmer and his men are making good running about a 
field behind. Tom wishes to himself that they had 
made off in any other direction, but now they are all in 
for it together, and must see it out. “ You won’t leave 
the young ’un, will you ?” says he, as they haul poor 
little Arthur, already losing wind from the fright, 
through the next hedge. “ Not we,” is the answer 
from both. The next hedge is a stiff one ; the pursuers 
gain horribly on them, and they only just pull Arthur 
through, witli two great rents in his trousers, as the 
foremost shepherd comes up on the other side. ■ As 
they start into the next field, they are aware of two 

T 


274 


RUNNING FOR A CONVOY. 


figures walking down the footpath in the middle of it, 
and recognise Holmes and Higgs taking a constitu- 
tional. Those good-natured fellows immediately shout 
On.” “ Let’s go to them and surrender,” pants 
Tom. — Agreed. — And in another minute the four boys, 
to the great astonishment of those worthies, rush breath- 
less up to Holmes and Higgs, who pull up to see what 
is the matter ; and then the whole, is explained by the 
appearance of the farmer and his men, who unite their 
forces and bear down on the knot of boys. 

There is no time to explain, and Tom’s heart beats 
frightfully quick, as he ponders, Will they stand by 
us ? ” 

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him ; 
and that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, in- 
stead of kicking his shins, looks appealingly at Holmes, 
and stands still. 

Hullo there, not so fast,” says Holmes, who is bound 
to stand up for them till they are proved in the wrong. 
“ Now what’s all this about ? ” 

“ I’ve got the young varmint at last, have T,” pants the 
farmer ; “ why they’ve been a skulking about my yard 
and stealing my fowls, that’s where ’tis ; and if I doan’t 
have they flogged for it, every one on ’em, my name 
ain’t Thompson.” 

Holmes looks grave, and H^'ggs’s face falls. They are 
quite ready to fight, no boys in the school more so ; but 
they are praepostors, and understand their office, and 
can’t uphold unrighteous causes. 

I haven’t been near his old barn this half,” cries 
East. Nor I,” “ Nor I,” chime in Tom and Martin. 

“ Now, Willum, didn’t you see ’m there last week ? ” 


A DEBATE. 


275 


" Ees, I seen ’em sure enough,” says Willum, grasping 
a prong he carried, and preparing for action. 

The boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to admit 
that, “ if it worn’t they, ’twas chaps as like ’em as two 
peas’n ; ” and “ leastways he’ll swear he see’d them two 
in the yard last Martinmas,” indicating East and Tom. 

Holmes had time to meditate. " How, sir,” says he to 
Willum, “ you see you can’t remember what you have 
seen, and I believe the boys.” 

“ I doan’t care,” blusters the farmer ; they was arter 
my fowls to-day, that’s enough for I. Willum, you 
catch hold o’ t’other chap. They’ve been a sneaking 
about this two hours, I tells ’ee,” shouted he, as Holmes 
stands between Martin and Willum, “ and have druv 
a matter of a dozen young pullets pretty nigh to 
death.” 

‘‘ Oh, there’s a whacker ! ” cried East ; “ we haven’t 
been within a hundred yards of his barn ; we haven’t 
been up here above ten minutes, and we’ve seen 
nothing but a tough old giiinea-hen, who ran like a 
greyhound.” 

“ Indeed, that’s all true. Holmes, upon my honour,” 
added Tom ; “ we weren’t after his fowls ; the guinea- 
hen ran out of the hedge under our feet, and we’ve 
seen nothing else.” 

“ Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o’ t’other, 
Willum, and come along wi ’uii.” 

Earmer Thompson,” said Holmes, warning off 
Willum and the prong with his stick, while Diggs 
faced the other shepherd, cracking his fingers like 
pistol shots, now listen to reason — the boys haven’t 
been after your fowls, that’s plain.” 


276 


A DEBATE. 


** Tells ’ee I see’d ’em. Who be you, I should like to 
know ? ” 

“ Never you mind, Farmer,” answered Holmes. 
''And now I’ll just tell you what it is — you ought to 
he ashamed of yourself for leaving all that poultry 
about, with no one to watch it, so near the School. 
You deserve to have it all stolen. So if you choose to 
come up to the Doctor with them, I shall go with 
you, and tell him what I think of it.” 

The farmer began to take Holmes fora master; be- 
sides, he wanted to get back to his flock. Corporal punish- 
ment was out of the question, the odds were too great ; so 
he began to hint at paying for the damage. Arthur 
jumped at this, offering to pay anything, and the farmer 
immediately valued the guinea-hen at half-a-sovereign. 

" Half-a-sovereign ! ” cried East, now released from 
the farmer’s grip; "well, that a good one! the hen 
ain’t hurt a bit, and she’s seven years old, I know, 
and as tough as whipcord ; she couldn’t lay another egg 
to save her life.” 

It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer 
two shillings, and his man one shilling, and so the 
matter ended, to the unspeakable re>-!ief of Tom, who 
hadn’t been able to say a word, being sick at heart at 
the idea of what the Doctor would think of him : and 
now the whole party of boys marched off down the foot- 
path towards Eugby. Holmes, who was one of the 
best boys in the School, began to improve the occasion. 
" Now, you youngsters,” said he, as he marched along 
in the middle of them, " mind this ; you’re very well 
out of this SCI ape. Don’t you go near Thompson’s 
barn again ; do you hear ? ” 


LECTURE ON SCHOOL LARCENY. 


2.77 


Profuse promises from all, especially East. 

“ Mind, I don’t ask questions,” went on Mentor, 
“ but I rather think some of you have been there before 
this after his chickens. Now, knocking over other 
people’s chickens, and running off with them, is stealing. 
It’s a nasty word, but that’s the plain English of it. 
If the chickens were dead and lying in a shop, you 
wouldn’t take them, I know that, any more than you 
would apples out of Griffith’s basket; but there’s no 
real difference between chickens running about and 
apples on a tree, and the same articles in a shop. I 
wish our morals were sounder in such matters. There’s 
nothing so mischievous as these school distinctions, 
which jumble up right and wrong, and justify things in 
us for which poor boys would be sent to prison.” And, 
good old Holmes delivered his soul on the walk home 
of many wise sayings, and, as the song says — 

** Gee’d ’em a sight of good advice” — 

which same sermon sank into them all, more or less, 
and very penitent they were for several hours. But 
truth compels me to admit that East at any rate forgot 
it all in a week, but remembered the insult which had 
been put upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the 
Tadpole and other haiebrained youngsters, committed 
a raid on the barn soon afterwards, in which they wei e 
caught by the shepherds and severely handled, besides 
having to pay eight shillings, all the money they had 
in the world, to escape being taken up to the Doctor. 

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study 
from this time, and Arthur took to him so kindly, that 
Tom couldn’t resist slight fits of jealousy, which, how- 


278 ARTHUR SEALS HIS FRIENDSHIP. 

ever, he managed to keep to himself. The kestrehs 
eggs had not been broken, strange to say, and formed 
the nucleus of Arthur’s collection, at which INIartin 
worked heart and soul ; and introduced Arthur to 
Howlett the bird-fancier, and instructed him in the 
rudiments of the art of stuffing. In token of his gra- 
titude, Arthur allowed Martin to tattoo a small anchor 
on one of his wrists, which decoration, however, he 
carefully concealed from Tom. Before the end of the 
half year he had trained into a bold climber and good 
runner, and, as Martin had foretold, knew twice as much 
about trees, birds, flowers, and many other things, as our 
good-hearted and facetious young friend Harry East 

r. 


FIGHTING IN GENERAL. 


279 


CHAPTER V. 


THE EIGHT. 


SuTgeljat Macnevisius 
Et mox jactabat iiltio, 

Pugtiabo tua gratia 

Feroci hoc Mactwoltro.” — Etonian. 



sort of fellow — we 
who are used to 
studying boys all 
know him well 
enough — of whom 
you can predicate 
with a] most positive 
certainty, after he 
has been a month 
at school, that he is 
sure to have a fight, 
and with almost 
equnl certainty that 
he will have hut 
one. Tom Brown 
was one of these ; 
and as it is our 
well-weighed intention to give a full, true, and 
correct account of Tom’s only single combat with a 


280 


FIGHTING IN GENERAL. 


scliool-fellow in the manner of our old friend BelV& 
Life^ let those young persons whose stomachs are not 
strong, or who think a good set-to with the weapons 
which God has given us all, an uncivilized, unchristian, 
or ungentlemanly affair, just skip this chapter at once, 
for it won’t be to their taste. 

It was not at all usual in those days for two School- 
house boys to have a fight. Of course there were excep- 
tions, when some cross-grained hard-headed fellow 
came up who would never be happy unless he was 
quarrelling with his nearest neighbours, or when there 
was some class-dispute, between the fifth-form and the 
fags for instance, which required blood-letting; and a 
champion was picked out on each side tacitly, who 
settled the matter by a good hearty mill. But for the 
most part the constant use of those surest keepers of 
the peace, the boxing-gloves, kept the School-house 
boys from fighting one another. Two or three nights 
in every week the gloves were brought out, either in 
the hall or fifth-form room; and every boy who was 
ever likely to fight at all knew all his neighbours’ 
prowess perfectly well, and could tell to a nicety what 
chance he would have in a stand-up fight with any 
other boy in the house.' But of course no such experi- 
ence could be gotten as regarded boys in other houses ; 
and as most of the other houses were more or less 
jealous of the School-house, collisions were frequent. 

After all, what would life be without fighting, I 
should like to know ? From the cradle to the grave, 
fighting, rightly understood, is the business, the real, 
highest, honestest business of every son of man. Every 
one who is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be 


HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 


281 


beaten, be they evil thoughts and habits in himself, or 
spiritual wickedness in high places, or Eussians, or 
Border-ruffians, or Bill, Tom, or Harry, who will not 
let him live his life in quiet till he has thrashed them. 

It is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men, 
to uplift their voices against fighting. Human nature 
s too strong for them, and they don’t follow their own 
precepts. Every soul of them is doing his own piece 
of fighting, somehow and somewhere. The world might 
be a better world without fighting, for anything I know, 
but it wouldn’t be our world ; and therefore I am dead 
against crying peace when there is no peace, and isn’t 
meant to be. I am as sorry as any man to see folk 
fighting the wrong people and the wrong things, but 
I’d a deal sooner see them doing that, than that they 
should have no fight in them. So having recorded, and 
being about to record, my hero’s fights of all sorts, with 
all sorts of enemies, I shall now proceed to give an 
account of his passage-at-arms with the only one of 
his school-fellows whom he ever had to encounter in 
this manner. 

It was drawing towards the close of Arthur’s first 
half-year, and the May evenings were lengthening out. 
Locking-up was not till eight o’clock, and everybody 
was beginning to talk about what he would do in the 
holidays. The shell, in which form all our dramatis 
personae now are, were reading amongst other things 
the last book of Homer’s “ Iliad,” and had worked through 
it as far as the speeches of the women over Hector’s 
body. It is a whole school-day,- and four or five of the 
School-house boys (amongst whom are Arthur, Tom, 
and East) are preparing third lesson together. They 


282 


HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 


have finished the regulation forty lines, and are for 
the most part getting very tired, notwithstanding the 
exquisite pathos of Helen’s lamentation. And now 
several long four- syllabled words come together, and 
the boy with the dictionary strikes work. 

“ I am not going to look out any more words,” says 
he; “we’ve done the quantity. Ten to one we shan’t 
get so far. Let’s go out into the close.” 

“ Come along, boys,” cries East, always ready to 
leave the grind, as he called it ; “ our old coach is laid 
up, you know, and we shall have one of the new masters, 
who’s sure to go slow and let us down easy.” 

So an adjournment to the close was carried nem. 
con.y little Arthur not daring to uplift his voice ; but, 
being deeply interested in what they were reading, 
stayed quietly behind, and learnt on for his own 
pleasure. 

As East had said, the regular master of the form 
was unwell, and they were to be heard by one of the 
new masters, quite a young man, who had only just 
left the university. Certainly it would be hard lines, if, 
by dawdling as much as possible in coming in and 
taking their places, entering into long-winded explana- 
tions of what was the usual course of the regular master 
of the form, and others of the stock contrivances of 
boys for wasting time in school, they could not spin 
out the lesson so that he should not work them through 
more than the forty lines ; as to which quantity there 
was a. perpetual fight going on between the master and 
his form, the latter insisting, and enforcing by passive 
resistance, that it was the prescribed quantity of Homer 
for a shell lesson, the former that there was no fixed 


now THE FIGHT AROSE. 


283 


quantity, but that they must always be ready to go on 
to fifty or sixty lines if there were time within the hour. 
However, notwithstanding all their efforts, the new 
master got on horribly quick; he seemed to have the 
bad taste to be really interested in the lesson, and to 
be trying to work them up into something like appre- 
ciation of it, giving them good spirited English words, 
instead of the wretched bald stuff into which they 
rendered poor old Homer; and construing over each 
piece himself to them, alter each boy, to show them how 
it should be done. 

How the clock strikes the three-quarters ; there is 
only a quarter of an hour more; but the forty lines 
are all but done. So the boys, one after another, who 
are called up, stick more and more, and make balder 
and ever more bald work of it. The poor young 
master is pretty near beat by this time, and feels ready 
to knock his head against the wall, or his fingers against 
somebody else’s head. So he gives up altogether the 
lower and middle parts of the form, and looks round 
in despair at the boys on the top bench, to see if there 
is one out of whom he can strike a spark or two, and 
who will be too chivalrous to murder the most beautiful 
utterances of the most beautiful woman of the old world. 
His eye rests on Arthur, and he calls him up to finish 
construing Helen's speech. Whereupon all the other 
boys draw long breaths, and begin to stare about and 
take it easy. They are all safe; Arthur is the head 
of the form, and sure to be able to construe, and that 
will tide on safely till the hour strikes. 

Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek 
before construing it, as the custom is. Tom, who isn’t 


284 


HOW THE FIGHT AKOSE. 


paying much attention, is suddenly caught by the faltei 
in his voice as he reads the two lines — 

oAXa crv Tov y €7rif (rai 7rapai(f>diJ,€vos Karl pvKCS^ 
dyavo(l)pocrivr] Ka\ aois dyavois €7re€(T(TtP, 

He looks up at Arthur. ‘‘Why, bless us,” thinks he, 
“ what can be the matter with the young 'un ? He’s 
never going to get floored. He’s sure to have learnt 
to the end.” Next moment he is reassured by the 
spirited tone in which Arthur begins construing, and 
betakes himself to drawing dogs’ heads in his note-book, 
while the master, evidently enjoying the change, turns 
his back on the middle bench and stands before Arthur, 
beating a sort of time with his hand and foot, and 
saying, “ Yes, yes,” “ very well,” as Arthur goes on. 

But as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches that 
falter and again looks up. He sees that there is some- 
thing the matter — Arthur can hardly get on at all. What 
can it be ? 

Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down altogether, 
and fairly bursts out crying, and dashes the cuff of his 
jacket across his eyes, blushing up to the roots of 
his hair, and feeling as if he should like to go down 
suddenly through the floor. The whole form are taken 
aback ; most of them stare stupidly at him, while those 
who are gifted with presence of mind find their places 
and look steadily at their books, in hopes of not 
catching the master’s eye and getting called up in 
Arthur’s place. 

The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then 
seeing, as the fact is, that the boy is really affected to 
tears by the most touching thing in Homer, perhaps in 


285 


HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 

all profane poetry put together, steps up to him and 
lays his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying, "l^ever 
mind, my little man, you’ve construed very well. Stop 
a minute, there’s no hurry.’* 

Now, as luck would have it, there sat next above 
Tom that day, in the middle bench of the form, a big 
boy, by name Williams, generally supposed to be the 
cock of the shell, therefore of all the school below the 
fifths. The small boys, who are great speculators on 
the prowess of their elders, used to hold forth to one 
another about Williams’s great strength, and to discuss 
whether East or Brown would take a licking from him. 
He was called Slogger Williams, from the force with 
which it was supposed he could hit. In the main, he 
was a rough good-natured fellow enough, but very much 
alive to his own dignity. He reckoned himself the king 
of the form, and kept up his position with a strong 
hand, especially in the matter of forcing boys not to 
construe more than the legitimate forty lines. He had 
already grunted and grumbled to himself, when Arthur 
went on reading beyond the forty lines. But now that 
he had broken down just in the middle of all the long 
words, the Slogger’s wrath was fairly roused. 

"Sneaking little brute,” muttered he, regardless of 
prudence, "clapping on the waterworks just in the 
hardest place ; see if I don’t punch his head after fourth 
lesson.” 

" Whose ? ” said Tom, to whom the remark seemed to 
be addressed. 

" Why, that little sneak Arthur’s,” replied Williams. 

“No, you shan’t,” said Tom. 

“ Hullo ! ” exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with 




286 HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 

great surprise for a moment, *and then giving him a 
sudden dig in the ribs with his elbow, which sent Tom’s 
books flying on the floor, and called the attention of the 
master, who turned suddenly round, and seeing the state 
! of things, said — 

“'Williams, go down three places, and then go on.” 

The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded 
to go below Tom and two other boys with great disgust, 
and then, turning round and facing the master, said, 
“I haven’t learnt any more, sir; our lesson is only 
forty lines.” 

“Is that so?” said the master, appealing generally 
to the top bench. No answer. 

“ Who is the head boy of the form ? ” said he, waxing 
wroth. 

“ Arthur, sir,” answered three or four boys, indicating 
our friend. 

“ Oh, your name’s Arthur. Well now, what is the 
length of your regular lesson ? ” 

Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said, “We call 
it only forty lines, sir.” 

“ How do you mean, you call it ? ” 

“Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain’t to stop there, 
when there’s time to construe more.” 

“ I understand,” said the master. “ Williams, go down 
three more places, and write me out the lesson in Greek 
and English. And now, Arthur, finish construing.” 

“ Oh 1 would I be in Arthur’s shoes after fourth 
lesson ? ” said the little boys to one another ; but 
Arthur finished Helen’s speech without any further 
catastrophe, and the*’^ clock struck four, which ended 
third lesson. 


THE CHALLENGE. 


287 


Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying 
fourth lesson, during which Williams was bottling up his 
wrath ; and when five struck, and the lessons for the 
day were over, he prepared to take summary vengeance 
on the innocent cause of his misfortune. 

Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the 
rest, and on coming out into the quadrangle, the first 
thing he saw was a small ring of boys, applauding 
Williams, who was holding Arthur by the collar. 

“There, you young sneak,” said he, giving Arthur 
a cuff on the head with his other hand, “what made 
you say that” — 

“Hullo!” said Tom, shouldering into the crowd, “you 
drop that, Williams ; you shan’t touch him.” 

“Who’ll stop me?” said the Slogger, raising his 
hand again. 

“I,” said Tom; and suiting the action to the word, 
struck the arm which held Arthur’s arm so sharply, 
that the Slogger dropped it with a start, and turned the 
full current of his wrath on Tom. 

“ Will you fight ? ” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ Huzza, there’s going to be a fight between Slogger 
Williams and Tom Brown ! ” 

The news ran like wild-fire about, and many boys 
who were on their way to tea at their several houses 
turned back, and sought the back of the chapel, where 
the fights come off*. 

“Just run and fell East to come and back me,” said 
Tom to a small School-house boy, who was off like a 
rocket to Harro well’s, just stopping for a moment to 
poke his head into the School-house hall, where the 


288 


THE PEELING. 


lower boys were already at tea, and sing out, "Fight! 
Tom Brown and Slogger Williams.” 

Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, 
butter, sprats, and all the rest to take care of them- 
selves. The greater part of the remainder follow in a 
minute, after swallowing their tea, carrying their food 
in their hands to consume as they go. Three oi* four 
only remain, who steal the butter of the more impetuous, 
and make to themselves an unctuous feast. 

In another minute East and Martin tear through the 
quadrangle carrying a sponge, and arrive at the scene 
of action just as the combatants are beginning to strip. 

Tom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as he 
stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and braces. East tied 
his handkerchief round his waist, and rolled up his 
shirt-sleeves for him : " Now, old boy, don’t you open 
your mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a bit, 
we’ll do all that ; you keep all your breath and strength 
for the Slogger.” Martin meanwhile folded the clothes, 
and put them under the chapel rails ; and now Tom, 
with East to handle him and Martin to give him a knee, 
steps out on the turf, and is ready for all that may 
come: and here is the Slogger too, all stripped, and 
thirsting for the fray. 

It doesn’t look a fair match at first glance : Williams 
is nearly two inches taller, and probably a long year 
older than his opponent, and he is very strongly made 
about the arms and shoulders ; “ peels well,” as the 
little knot of big fifth -form boys, the amateurs, say; 
who stand outside the ring of little boys, looking com- 
placently on, but taking no active part in the proceed- 
ings. But down below he is not so good by any means • 


EAKLY ROUNDS. 


289 


no spring from the loins, and feebleish, not to say- 
ship wrecky, about the knees. Tom, on the contrary, 
though not half so strong in the arms, is good all over, 
straight, hard, and springy from neck to ankle, better 
perhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can 
see by the clear white of his eye and fresh bright look 
of his skin, that he is in tip-top training, able to do all 
he knows ; while the Slogger looks rather sodden, as if 
he didn’t take much exercise and ate too much tuck. 
The time-keeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the 
two stand up opposite one another for a moment, giving 
us time just to make our little observations. 

“ If Tom’ll only condescend to fight with his head 
and heels,” as East mutters to ]\Tartin, “ we shall do.” 

But seemingly he won’t, for there he goes in, making 
play with both hands. Hard all, is the word ; the two 
stand to one another like men ; rally follows rally in 
quick succession, each fighting as if he thought to finish 
the whole thing out of hand. “ Can’t last at this rate,” 
say the knowing ones, while the partisans of each make 
the air ring with their shouts and counter-shouts, of 
encouragement, approval, and defiance. 

“ Take it easy, take it easy — keep away, let him come 
after you,” implores East, as he wipes Tom’s face after 
the first round with wet sponge, while he sits back on 
Martin’s knee, supported by the Madman’s long arms, 
which tremble a little from excitement. 

“ Time’s up,” calls the time-keeper. 

“ There he goes again, hang it all ! ” growls East as 
his man is at it again as hard as ever. A very severe 
round follows, in which Tom gets out and out the 
worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and 

u 


290 


HEAD FIGHTING. 


deposited on the grass by a right-hander from the 
Slogger. 

Loud shouts rise from the hoys of Slogger's house, 
and the School-house are silent and vicious, ready to 
pick quarrels anywhere. 

“ Two to one in half-crowns on the big 'un/' says 
Kattle, one of the amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder- 
and-lightning waistcoat, and puffy, good-natured face. 

“ Done ! ” says Groove, another amateur of quieter 
look, taking out his note-book to enter it — for our friend 
Eattle sometimes forgets these little things. 

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the sponges 
for next round, and has set two otl: r boys to rub his 
hands. 

Tom, old boy," whispers he, “ this may be fun for 
you, but it’s death to me. He’ll hit all the fight out of 
you in another five minutes, and then I shall go and 
drown myself in the island ditch. Feint him — use your 
legs ! — draw him about ! he’ll lose his wind then in no 
time, and you can go into him. Hit at his body too , 
we’ll take care of his frontispiece by and by.’’ 

Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already 
that he couldn’t go in and finish the Slogger off at mere 
hammer and tongs, so changed his tactics completely in 
the third round. He now fights cautious, getting away 
from and parrying the Slogger’s lunging hits, instead of 
trying to counter, and leading his enemy a dance all 
round the ring after him. “He’s funking; go in, 
Williams,’’ “ Catch him up,’’ “ Finish him off,’’ scream 
the small boys of the Slogger party. 

“Just what we want,’’ thinks East, chuckling to 
himself, as he sees Williams, excited by these shouts, 


STEADY ALL. 


291 


and thinking tho game in his own hands, blowing him- 
self in his exertions to get to close quarters again, while 
Tom is keeping away with perfect ease. 

They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom 
always on the defensive. 

The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly 
blown. 

‘'Now then, Tom,” sings out East, dancing with 
delight. Tom goes in in a twinkling, and hits two 
heavy body blows, and gets away again before the 
‘Slogger can catch his wind; which when he does he 
rushes with blind fury at Tom, and being skilfully 
parried and avoided, over-reaches himself and falls on 
his face, amidst terrific cheers from the School-house 
boys. 

“Double your two to one?” says Groove to Eattle, 
note-book in hand. 

“ Stop a bit,” says that hero, looking uncomfortably 
at Williams, who is puffing away on his second’s knee^ 
winded enough, but little the worse in any other way. 

After another round the Slogger too seems to see 
that he can’t go in and win right off, and has met his 
match or thereabouts. So he too begins to use his head, 
and tries to make Toni lose patience and come in before 
his time. And so the fight sways on, now one, and 
now the other, getting a trifling pull. 

Tom’s face begins to look very one-sided — there are 
little queer bumps on his forehead, and his mouth is 
bleeding; but East keeps the wet sponge going so 
scientifically, that he comes up looking as fresh and 
bright as ever. Williams is only slightly marked in the 
face, but by the nervous movement of his elbows you 


292 


THE KING BROKEN. 


can see that Tom’s body blows are telling. In fact, half 
the vice of the Slogger’s hitting is neutralized, for he 
daren’t lunge out freely for fear of exposing his sides. 
It is too interesting by this time for much shouting, 
and the whole ring is very quiet. 

** All right, Tommy,” whispers East ; “ hold on’s the 
horse that’s to win. We’ve got the last. Keep your 
head, old boy.” 

But where is Arthur all this time ? Words cannot 
paint the poor little fellow’s distress. He couldn’t 
muster courage to come up to the ring, but wandered 
up and down from the great fives’-court to the corner of 
the chapel rails. Now trying to make up his mind to 
throw himself between them, and try to stop them ; 
then thinking of running in and telling his friend 
Mary, who he knew would instantly report to the 
Doctor. The stories he had heard of men being killed 
in prize-fights rose up horribly before him. 

Once only, when the shouts of “ Well done. Brown!” 
“ Huzza for the School-house ! ” rose higher than ever, 
he ventured up to the ring, thinking the victory was 
won. Catching sight of Tom’s face in the state I have 
described, all fear of consequences vanishing out of his 
mind, he rushed straight off to the matron’s room, be- 
seeching her to get the fight stopped, or he should die. 

But it’s time for us to get back to the close. What 
is this fierce tumult and confusion ? The ring is 
broken, and high and angry words are being bandied 
about ; “ It’s all fair,” — “ It isn’t,” — Ko hugging ; ” 
the fight is stopped. The combatants, however, sit 
there quietly, tended by their seconds, while their 
adherents wrangle in the middle. Ea''' can’t help 


THE CRISIS. 


293 


shouting challenges to two or three of the other side, 
though he never leaves Tom for a moment, and plies 
the sponges -as fast as ever. 

The fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom 
seeing a good opening, had closed with his opponent, and 
after a moment’s struggle had thrown him heavily, by 
the help of the fall he had learnt from his village rival 
in the vale of White Horse. Williams hadn’t the 
ghost of a chance with Tom at wrestling ; and the con- 
viction broke at once on the Slogger faction, that if tliis 
were allowed their man must be licked. There was a 
strong feeling in the school against catching hold and 
throwing, though it was generally ruled all fair within 
certain limits; so the ring was broken and the fight 
stopped. 

The School-house are over-ruled — the fight is on 
again, but there is to be no throwing; and East in high 
wrath threatens to take his man away after next 
round (which he don’t mean to do, by the way), when 
suddenly young Brooke comes through the small gate 
at the end of the chapel. The School-house faction 
rush to him. “ Oh, hurra ! now we shall get fair play.” 

“ Please, Brooke, come up, they won’t let Tom Brown 
throw him.” 

“ Throw whom ? ” says Brooke, coming up to the 
ring. “ Oh ! Williams, I see. Nonsense ! of course 
he may throw him if he catches him fairly above the 
waist.” 

Now, young Brooke, you’re in the sixth, you know^ 
and you ought to stop all lights. He looks hard at 
both boys. “ Any thin^ wrong ? ” says he to East, 
nodding at Tom. 


294 


THE LAST HOUND. 


“ Not a bit.” 

Not beat at all ? ” 

“ Bless you, no ! heaps of fight in him. Ain’t there, 
Tom?” 

Tom looks at Brooke and grins. 

How’s he ? ” nodding at Williams. 

So, so ; rather done, I think, since his last fall. He 
won’t stand above two more.” 

“Time’s up!” the boys rise again and face one 
another. Brooke can’t find it in his heart to stop them 
just yet, so the round goes on, the Slogger waiting for 
Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out 
should he come in for the wrestling dodge again, for 
he feels that that must be stopped, or his sponge will 
soon go up in the air. 

And now another new comer appears on the field, to 
wit, the under -porter, with his long brush and great 
wooden receptacle for dust under his arm. He has 
been sweeping out the schools. 

“You’d better stop, gentlemen,” he says; “the 
Doctor knows that Brown’s fighting — he’ll be out in 
a minute.” 

“You go to Bath, Bill,” is all that that excellent 
servitor gets by his advice. And. being a man of his 
hands, and a staunch upholder of the School-house, 
can’t help stopping to look on for a bit, and see Tom 
Brown, their pet craftsman, fight a round. 

It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys 
feel this, and summon every power of head, hand, and 
eye to their aid. A piece of luck on either side, a foot 
slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall, may 
decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening ; he 


THE DOCTOR ARRIVES. 


295 


has all the legs, and can choose his own time : the 
Slogger waits for the attack, and hopes to finish it h)^ 
some heavy right-lianded blow. As they quarter slowly 
over the ground, the evening sun comes out from behind 
a cloud and falls full on Williams’s face. Tom darts in ; 
the heavy right-hand is delivered, bub only grazes his 
head. A short rally at close quarters, and they close ; 
in another moment the Slogger is thrown again heavily 
for the third time. 

" I’ll give you three to two on the little one in half- 
crowns,” said Groove to Eattle. 

“ No, thank’ee,” answers the other, diving his hands 
further into his coat-tails. 

Just at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the 
turret which leads to the Doctor’s library suddenly 
opens, and he steps into the close, and makes straight 
for the ring, in which Brown and the Slogger are both 
seated on their seconds’ knees for the last time. 

“ The Doctor ! the Doctor ! ” shouts some small boy 
who catches sight of him, and the ring melts away in 
a few seconds, the small boys tearing off, Tom collaring 
his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through the little 
gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell’s 
with his backers, as lively as need be ; Williams and 
his backers making off not quite so fast across the close ; 
Groove, Eattle, and the other bigger fellows trying to 
combine dignity and prudence in a comical manner, and 
walking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognised, 
and not fast enough to look like running away. 

Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the 
lime the Doctor gets there, and touches his hat, not 
without a slight inward qualm. 


296 


THE doctor’s views. 


“ Hah ! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. Don’t 
you know that I expect the sixth to stop lighting ? *’ 

Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had 
expected, hut he was rather a favourite with the Doctor 
for his openness and plainness of speech ; so blurted out, 
as he walked by the Doctor’s side, who had already 
turned back — 

“ Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us 
to exercise a discretion in the matter too — not to inter- 
fere too soon.” 

“ But they have been lighting this half-hour and 
more,” said the Doctor. 

“Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they’re the 
sort of boys who’ll be all the better friends now, which 
they wouldn’t have been if they had been stojiped any 
earlier — before it was so equal.” 

“ Who was lighting with Brown ? ” said the Doctor. 

“ Williams, sir, of Thompson’s. He is bigger than 
Brown, and had the best of it at first, but not when you 
came up, sir. There’s a goo 1 deal of jealousy between 
pur house and Thompson’s, and there would have been 
more lights if this hadn’t been let go on, or if either ot 
them had had much the worst of it.” 

“ Well but, Brooke,” said the Doctor, “ doesn’t this 
look a little as if you exercised your discretion by only 
stopping a fight when the ISchool-house boy is getting 
the worst of it ? ” 

Brooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled. 

“ Kern ember,” added the Doctor, as he stopped at the 
turret-door, “ this fight is not to go on — you’ll see to that. 
And I expect you to stop all fights in future at once.” 

“Very well, sir,” said young Brooke, touching his 



THE doctor’s counsel TO YOUNG BROOKE. P. 296. 


i- 






EVENING AFTER THE FIGHT. 297 

hat, and not sorry to see the turret-door close behind 
the Doctor’s back. 

Meantime Tom and the staunchest of his adherents 
had reached Harrovvelbs, and Sally was bustling about 
to get them a late tea, while Stumps had been sent off 
to Tew the butcher, to get a piece of raw beef for Tom’s 
eye, which was to be healed off-hand, so that he might 
show well in the morning. He was not a bit the worse 
except a slight difficulty in his vision, a singing in his 
ears, and a sprained thumb, which he kept in a cold- 
water bandage, while he drank lots of tea, and listened 
to the Babel of voices talking and speculating of nothing 
but the fight, and how Williams would have given in 
after another fall (which he didn’t in the least believe), 
and how on earth the Doctor could have got to know 
of it, — such bad luck ! He couldn’t help thinking 
to himself that he was glad he hadn’t won ; he liked it 
better as it was, and felt very friendly to the Slogger. 
And then poor little Arthur crept in and sat down quietly 
near him, and kept looking at him and the raw beef with 
such plaintive looks, that Tom at last burst out laughing. 

“ Don’t make such eyes, young ’un,” said he, “ there’s 
nothing the matter.” 

“ Oh but, Tom, are you much hurt ? I can’t bear 
thinking it was all for me.” 

“Hob a bit of it, don’t flatter yourself. We were 
sure to have had it out sooner or later.” 

“ Well, but you won’t go on, will you ? You’ll 
promise me you won’t go on ? ” 

“Can’t tell about that — all depends on the houses. 
We’re in the hands of our countrymen, you know. 
Must fight for the School-house Hag, if so be.” 


298 


THE SHAKE- HANDS. 


However, the lovers of the science were doomed to 
disappointment this time. Directly after locking-up, 
one of the night fags knocked at Toni’s door. 

“ Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form 
room.” 

Up went Tom to the summons, and found the mag- 
nates sitting at their supper. 

Well, Brown,” said young Brooke, nodding to him, 
“ how do you feel ? ” 

''Oh, very well, thank you, only I’ve sprained my 
thumb, I think.” 

“ Sure to (^0 that in a fight. Well, you hadn’t the worst 
of it, I could see. Where did you learn that throw ? ” 

" Down in the country, when I was a boy.” 

" Hullo ! why what are you now ? Well, never mind, 
you’re a plucky fellow. Sit down and have some supper.” 

Tom obeyed, by no means loth. And the fifth-form 
boy next him filled him a tumbler of bottled-beer, and 
he ate and drank, listening to the pleasant talk, and 
wondering how soon he should be in the fifth, and one 
of that much-envied society. 

As he got up to leave, Brooke said, “ You must 
shake hands to-morrow morning ; I shall come and see 
that done after first lesson.” 

And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook 
hands with great satisfaction and mutual respect. And for 
the next year or two, whenever fights were being talked 
of, the small boys who had been present shook their 
heads wisely, saying, “ Ah! but you should just have seen 
the fight between Slogger Williams and Tom Brown! ” 

And now, boys all, tliree words before we quit the 
subject. I have put in this chapter on fighting of 


THE OLD BOY'S BULES. 


299 


malice prepense, partly because I want to give you a 
true picture of what every-day school life was in my 
time, and not a kid-glove and go-to-meeting-coat pic- 
ture ; and partly because of the cant and twaddle that’s 
talked of boxing and fighting with fists now-a-days. 
Even Thackeray has given in to it; and only a few 
weeks ago there was some rampant stuff in the Times 
on the subject, in an article on field sports. 

Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will some- 
times fight. Fighting with fists is the natural and 
English way for English boys to settle their quarrels. 
What substitute for it is there, or ever was there, 
amongst any nation under the sun ? What would you 
like to see take its place ? 

Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and 
football. Not one of you will be the worse, but very 
much the better for learning to box well. Should you 
never have to use it in earnest, there’s no exercise in 
the world so good for the temper, and for the muscles 
of the back and legs. 

As to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by all 
means. When the time comes, if it ever should, that 
3mu have to say “Yes" or “No” to a challenge to 
fight, say “ No ” if you can, — only take care you make 
it clear to yourselves why you say “ No.” It’s a proof 
of the highest courage, if done from true Christian 
motives. It’s quite right and justifiable, if done from 
a simple aversion to physical pain and danger. But 
don’t say “ No ” because you fear a licking, and say or 
think it’s because you fear God, for that’s neither Chris- 
tian nor honest. And if you do fight, fight it out ; and 
don’t give in while you can stand and see. 


zoo 


mOGRESS. 


CHAPTER VL 

FEVER IN THE SCHOOL. 

“ This our hope for all that’s mortal. 

And Ave too shall hurst the bond ; 

Death keeps watch beside the portal. 

But ’tis life that dwells beyond.” 

John Sterlino. 

years have 
passed since the 
events lecoided 
in the last chap- 
ter, and the end 
of the Slimmer 
half-year is again 
dravdngon. Mar- 
tin has left and 
gone on a cruise 
in the South Pa- 
cific, in one of his 
uncle’s ships ; the 
old magpie, as dis- 
reputable as ever, 
his last bequest 
to Arthur, lives 
in the joint study. 
Arthur is nearly sixteen, and is at the head of the 
twenty, having gone up the school at the rate of a 



THE DOCTOR. 


301 


foim a half-year. East and Tom have been much more 
deliberate in their progress, and are only a little way 
up the fifth form. Great strapping boys they are, but 
still thorough boys, filling about the same place in the 
House that young Brooke filled when they were new 
boys, and much the same sort of fellows. Constant 
intercourse with Arthur has done much for both of 
them, especially for Tom ; but much remains yet to be 
done, if they are to get all the good out of Bugby which 
is to be got there in these times. Arthur is still frail 
and delicate, with more spirit than body ; but, thanks 
to his intimacy with them and Martin, has learned to 
swim, and run, and play cricket, and has never hurt 
himself by too much reading. 

One evening, as they were all sitting down to supper 
in the fifth-form room, some one started a report that 
a fever had broken out at one of the boaiding-houses ; 
“ they say,” he added, “ that Thompson is very ill, and 
that Dr. Eobertson has been sent for from North- 
ampton.”' 

“Then we shall all be sent home,” cried another. 
“ Hurrah ! five weeks’ extra holidays, and no fifth-form 
examination ! ” 

“ I hope not,” said Tom ; “ there’ll be no Marylebone 
match then at the end of the half.” 

Some thought one thing, some another, many didn’t 
believe the report ; but the next day, Tuesday, Dr. 
Eobertson arrived, and stayed all day, and had long 
conferences with the Doctor. 

On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor 
addressed the whole School. There were several cases 
of fever in difierent houses, he said ; but Dr. Eobertson, 


302 


DEATI£ IN THE SCHOOL, 


after the most careful examination, had assured him 
that it was not infectious, and that if proper care were 
taken, there could be no reason for stopping the school 
work at present. The examinations were just coming 
on, and it would be very unadvisable to break-up nowr. 
However, any boys who chose to do so were at liberty 
to write home, and, if their parents wished it, to leave 
at once. He should send the whole School home if the 
fever spread. 

The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no 
other case. Before tlie end of the week thirty or forty 
boys had gone, but the rest stayed on. Tliere was a 
general wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that it 
was cowardly to run away. 

On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright after- 
noon, while the cricket-match was going on as usual 
on the big- side ground: the Doctor coming from his 
death-bed, passed along the gravel-walk at the side of 
the close, but no one knew what had happened till the 
next day. At morning lecture it began to' be rumoured, 
and by afternoon chapel was known generally ; and a 
feeling of seriousness and awe at the actual presence 
of death among them came over the whole School. In 
all the long years of his ministry the Doctor perhaps 
never spoke words wdiich sank deeper than some of 
those in that day’s sermon. “ When I came yesterday 
from visiting all but the very death-bed of him who has 
been taken from us, and looked around upon all the 
familiar objects and scenes within our own ground, 
where your common amusements were going on, with 
your common cheerfulness and activity, I felt there was 
nothing painful in witnessing that ; it did not seem in 


THE doctor’s sermon. 


303 


any way shocking or out of tune with those feelings 
which the sight of a dying Christian must be supposed 
to awaken. The unsuitableness in point of natural 
feeling between scenes of mourning and scenes of live- 
liness did not at all present itself. But I did feel that 
if at that moment any of those faults had been brought 
before me which sometimes occur amongst us; had I 
heard that any of you had been guilty of falsehood, or 
of drunkenness, or of any other such sin ; had I heard 
from any quarter the language of profaneness, or of 
unldndness, or of indecency ; had I heard or seen any 
signs of that wretched folly which courts the laugh of 
fools by aftecting not to dread evil and not to care for 
good, then the unsuitableness of any of these things 
with the scene I had just quitted would indeed have 
been most intensely painful. And why ? Not because 
such things would really have been worse than at any 
other time, but because at such a moment the eyes are 
opened really to know good and evil, because we then 
feel what it is so to live as that death becomes an infinite 
blessing, and what it is so to live also, that it were good 
for us if we had never been born.” 

Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about 
Arthur, but he came out cheered and strengthened by 
those grand words, and walked up alone to their study. 
And when he sat down and looked round, and saw 
Arthur’s straw-hat and cricket- jacket hanging on their 
pegs, and marked a.i his little neat arrangements, not 
one of which had been disturbed, the tears indeed rolled 
down his cheeks ; but they were calm and blessed tears, 
and he repeated to himself, “Yes, Geordie’s eyes are 
opened — he knows what it is so to live as that death 


304 


AKTHUll’S ILLNESS. 


becomes an infinite blessing. But do I ? Ob, God, 
can I bear to lose him ? ” 

The week passed mournfully away. No more boys 
sickened, but Arthur was reported worse each day, and 
his mother arrived early in the week. Tom made many 
appeals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried 
to get up to the sick-room ; but the housekeeper was 
always in the way, and at last spoke to the Doctor, who 
kindl}?-, but peremptorily, forbade him. 

Thompson was buried on the Tuesday; and the 
burial service, so soothing and grand always, but beyond 
all words solemn when read over a boy’s grave to his 
companions, brought him much comfort, and many 
strange new thoughts and longings. He went back to 
his regular life, and played cricket and bathed as usual : 
it seemed to him that this was the right thing to do, 
and the new thoughts and longings became more brave 
and healthy for the effort. The crisis came on Satur- 
day, the day week that Thompson had died , and during 
that long afternoon Tom sat in his study reading his 
Bible and going every half-hour to the housekeeper’s 
room, expecting each time to hear that the gentle and 
brave little spirit had gone home. But God had work 
for Arthur to do : the crisis passed — on Sunday evening 
he was declared out of danger; on Monday he sent a 
message to Tom that he was almost well, had changed 
his room, and was to be allowed to see him the next 
day. 

It was evening when the housekeeper summoned him 
to the sick-room. Arthur was lying on the sofa by the 
open window, through which the rays of the western 
sun stole gently, lighting up his white face and golden 


CONVALESCENCE. 


305 


hair. Tom remembered a German picture of an angel 
which he knew ; often had he thought how transparent 
and golden and spirit-like it was ; and he shuddered to 
think how like it Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if 
his blood had all stopped short, as he realized how near 
the other world his friend must have been to look like 
that. Never till that moment had he felt how his little 
chum had twined himself round his heartstrings; and 
as he stole gently across the room and knelt down, and 
put his arm round Arthur’s head on the pillow, he felt 
ashamed and half angry at his own rod and brown face, 
and the bounding sense of health and power which filled 
every fibre of his body, and made every movement of 
mere living a joy to him. He needn’t have troubled 
himself ; it was this very strength and power so different 
from bis own which drew Arthur so to him. 

Arthur laid his thin white hand, on which the blue 
veins stood out so plainly, on Tom’s great brown fist, 
and smiled at him ; and then looked out of the window 
again, as if he couldn’t bear to lose a moment of the 
sunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round 
which the rooks were circling and clanging, returning 
in flocks from their evening’s foraging parties. The 
elms rustled, the sparrows in the ivy just outside the 
window chirped and fluttered about, quarrelling and 
making it up again; the rooks young and old talked 
in chorus ; and the merry shouts of the boys, and the 
sweet click of the cricket-bats, came up cheerily from 
belowL 

“ Dear George,” said Tom, " I am so glad to be let 
up to see you at last. I’ve tried hard to come so often, 
but they wouldn’t let me before.” 


X 


306 


CONVALESCENCE 


"Oil, I know, Tom; Mary has told me every day 
about you, and how she was obliged to make the Doctor 
speak to you to keep you away. I’m very glad you 
didn’t get up, for you might have caught it, and you 
couldn’t stand being ill with all the matches going on. 
And you’re in the eleven too, I hear — I’m so glad.” 

“ Yes, ain’t it jolly ? ” said Tom proudly ; “ I’m ninth 
too. I made forty at the last pie-match and caught 
three fellows out. So I was put in above Jones and 
Tucker. Tucker’s so savage, for he was head of the 
twenty-two.” 

"Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,” said 
Arthur, who was as jealous for the renown of Tom 
in games, as Tom was for his as a scholar. 

"Never mind, I don’t care about cricket or anything 
now you’re getting well, Geordie ; and I shouldn’t have . 
hurt, I know, if they’d have let me come up, — nothing 
hurts me. But you’ll get about now directly, won’t 
you? You won’t believe how clean I’ve kept the 
study. All your things are just as you left them; and 
I feed the old magpie just when you used, though I 
have to come in from big-side for him, the old rip. 
He won’t look pleased all I can do, and sticks his head 
first on one side and then on the other, and blinks 
at me before he’ll begin to eat, till I’m half inclined 
to box his ears. And whenever East comes in, you 
should see him hop off to the window, dot and go one, 
though Harry wouldn’t touch a feather of him now.” 

Arthur laughed! " Old Gravey has a good memory ; 
he can’t forget the sieges of poor Martin’s den in 
old times.” He paused a moment, and then went on. 
"You can’t think how often I’ve been thinking of old 


MEMORIES. 


307 


Martin since IVe been ill ; I suppose one’s mind gets 
restless, and likes to wander off to strange unknown 
places. I wonder what queer new pets the old boy has 
got; how he must be revelling in the thousand new 
birds, beasts, and fishes.” 

Tom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in a 
moment. “ Fancy him on a South-Sea island, with the 
Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such wild niggers 
(Tom’s ethnology and geography were faulty, but suffi- 
cient for his needs;) “they’ll make the old Madman 
cock medicine-man and tattoo him all over. Perhaps 
he’s cutting about now all blue, and has a squaw and a 
wigwam. He’ll improve their boomerangs, and be able 
to throw them too, without having old Thomas sent 
after him by the Doctor to take them away.” 

Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boomer- 
ang story, but then looked grave again, and said. 
“ He’ll convert all the island, I know.” 

“ Yes, if he don’t blow it up first.” 

“Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used 
to laugh at him and chaff him, because he said he was 
sure the rooks all had calling-over or prayers, or some- 
thing of the sort, when the locking-up bell rang ? Well, 
I declare,” said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom’s 
laughing eyes, “I do think he was right. Since I’ve 
been lying here. I’ve watched them every night ; and do 
you know, they really do come, and perch all of them 
just about locking-up time ; and then first there’s a 
regular chorus of caws, and then they stop a bit, and 
one old fellow, or perhaps two or three in different trees, 
caw solos, and then off they all go again, fluttering 
about and cawing anyhow till they roost.” 

X 2 


308 


MEMORIES. 


** I wonder if the old blackies do talk ” said Tom, 
looking up at them. “ How they must abuse me and 
East, and pray for the Doctor for stopping the slinging.” 

“There! look, look!” cried Arthur; “don’t you see 
the old fellow without a tail coming up ? Martin used 
to call him the ‘ clerk.’ He can’t steer himself. You 
never saw such fun as he is in a high wind, when he 
can’t steer himself home, and gets carried right past the 
trees, and has to bear up again and again before he can 
perch.” 

The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys 
were silent, and listened to it. The sound soon carried 
Tom off to the river and the woods, and he began to 
go over in his mind the many occasions on which he had 
heard that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had 
to pack up his rod in a hurry, and make a run for it, to 
get in before the gates were shut. He was roused with 
a start from his memories by Arthur’s voice, gentle and 
weak from his late illness.. 

“Tom, will you be angry if I talk to you very 
seriously ? ” 

“Ho, dear old boy, not I. But ain’t you faint, 
Arthur, or ill ? What can I get you ? Don’t say any- 
thing to hurt yourself now — you are very weak ; let me 
come up again.” 

“ No, no, I shan’t hurt myself : I’d sooner speak to 
you now, if you don’t mind. I’ve asked Mary to tell 
the Doctor that you are with me, so you needn’t go 
down to calling-over ; and I mayn’t have another chance, 
for I shall most likely have to go home for change of 
air to get well, and mayn’t come back this half.” 

“ Oh, do you think you must go away before the end 


MOKE LESSONS. 


m 

of the half ? I’m so sorry. It’s more than five weehs 
yet to the holidays, and all the fifth-form examination 
and half the cricket-matches to come yet. And what 
shall I do all that time alone in our study ? Why, 
Arthur, it will be more than twelve weeks before I see 
you again. Oh, hang it, I can’t stand that ! Besides, 
who’s to keep me up to working at the examination 
books ? I shall come out bottom of the form as sure as 
eggs is eggs.” 

Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for 
he wanted to get Arthur out of his serious vein, think- 
ing it would do him harm ; but Arthur broke in — 

" Oh, please, Tom, stop, or you’ll drive all I had to 
say out of my head. And I’m already horribly afraid 
I’m going to make you angry.” 

“Don’t gammon, young ’un,” rejoined Tom (the use 
of the old name, dear to him from old recollections, 
made Arthur start and smile, and feel quite happy); 
“you know you ain’t afraid, and you’ve never made 
me angry since the first month we chummed together. 
Now I’m going to be quite sober for a quarter of an 
hour, which is more than I am once in a year; so 
make the most of it ; heave ahead, and pitch into me 
right and left.” 

“Dear Tom, I ain’t going to pitch into you,” said 
Arthur piteously ; “ and it seems so cocky in me to be 
advising you, who’ve been ray backbone ever since 
I’ve been at Eugby, and have made the school a para- 
dise to me. Ah, I see I shall never do it, unless I go 
head- over- heels at once, as you said when you taught 
me to swim. Tom, I want you to give up using 
vulgus-books and cribs.” 


310 


MOllE LESSONS. 


Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if 
the effort had been great ; but the worst was now over, 
and he looked straight at Tom, who was evidently 
taken aback. He leant his elbows on his knees, and 
stuck his hands into his hair, whistled a verse of 
“ Billy Taylor,” and then was quite silent for another 
minute. Hot a shade crossed his face, but he was clearly 
puzzled. At last he looked up and caught Arthur’s 
anxious look, took his hand, and said simply — 

Why, young ’un ? ” 

‘‘Because you’re the honestest boy in Eugby, and 
that ain’t honest.” 

“ I don’t see that.” 

“ What were you sent to Eugby for ? ” 

“Well, I don’t know exactly — nobody ever told me. 
I suppose because all boys are sent to a public school 
in England.” 

“But what do you think yourself? What do you 
want to do here, and to carry away ? ” 

Tom thought a minute. “I want to be A 1 at 
cricket and football, and all the other games, and to 
make my hands keep my head against any fellow, lout 
or gentleman. I want to get into the sixth before I 
leave, and to please the Doctor ; and I want to carry 
away just as much Latin and Greek as will take me 
through Oxford respectably. There now, young ’un, I 
never thought of it before, but that’s pretty much about 
my figure. Ain’t it all on the square ? What have 
you got to say to that ? ” 

“ Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you 
want, then.” 

‘ Well, I hope so. But you’ve forgot one thing 


TOM’S CONFESSIONS. 


311 


wliat T want to leave behind me. I want to leave 
behind me,” said Tom, speaking slow, and looking 
much moved, “ the name of a fellow who never bullied 
a little boy, or turned his back on a big one.” 

Arthur pressed, his hand, and after a moment’s 
silence went on : “ You say, Tom, you want to please 
the Doctor. Now, do you want to please him by what 
be thinks you do, or by what you really do ? ” 

“ By what I really do, of course.” 

“ Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books ? ” 

Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but he 
couldn’t give in. " He was at Winchester himself,” 
said he ; “ he knows all about it.” 

“Yes, but does he think you use them? Do you 
think he approves of it ? ” 

“You young villain !” said Tom, shaking his fist at 
Arthur, half vexed and half pleased, “I never think 
about it. ■ Hang it — there, perhaps he don’t. Well, I 
suppose he don’t.” 

Arthur saw that he had got his point; he knew his 
friend well, and w'as wise in silence, as in speech. He 
only said, ‘‘ I would sooner have the Doctor’s good opi- 
nion of me as I really am than any man’s in the world.” 

After another minute, Tom began again ; “ Look 
here, young ’un ; how on earth am I to get time to play 
the matches this half, if I give up cribs ? We’re in the 
middle of that long crabbed chorus in the “Agamemnon;” 
I can only just make head or tail of it with the crib. 
Then there’s Pericles’ speech coming on in Thucydides, 
and ‘ The Birds’ to get up for the examination, besides 
the Tacitus.” Tom groaned at the thought of his 
accumulated labours. ‘'I say, young ’un, there’s only 


312 TOM PKOPOiiES A COMPliOMISE. 

five weelcs or so left to holidays ; mayn’t I go on as 
usual for this half ? I’ll tell the Doctor about it some 
day, or you may.” 

Arthur looked out of window ; the twilight had come 
on and all was silent. He repeated, in a low voice, 
“ In this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when 
my master goeth into the house of Eimmon to worship 
there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow myself 
in the house of Rirnmon : when I bow down myself in 
the house of Eimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant in 
this thing.*’ 

Hot a word more was said on the subject, and the 
boys were again silent — one of those blessed, short 
silences in which the resolves which colour a life are 
so often taken. 

Tom was the first to break it. “You’ve been very ill 
indeed, haven’t you, Geordie ? ” said he, with a mixture 
of awe and curiosity, feeling as if his friend had been 
in some strange place or scene, of which he could form 
no idea, and full of the memory of his own thoughts 
during the last week. 

“Yes, very. I’m sure the Doctor thought I was 
going to die. He gave me the sacrament last Sunday, 
and you can’t think what he is when one is ill. He 
said such brave, and tender, and gentle things to me ; 
I felt quite light and strong after it, and never had any 
m )re fear. My mother brought our old medical man, 
who attended me when I was a poor sickly child ; he 
said my constitution was quite changed, and that I’m 
fit for anything now. If it hadn’t, I couldn’t have 
stood three days of this illness. That’s all thanks to 
you, and the games you've made me fond of.” 


TOM OUT-GENEKALLED. 313 

More thanks to old Martin/’ said Tom ; “ he’s been 
your real friend.” 

Nonsense, Tom ; he never could have done for me 
what you have.” 

“Well, I don’t know; I did little enough. Did 
they tell you — you won’t mind hearing it now, I know, 
— that poor Thompson died last week? The other 
three boys are getting quite ."ound, like you.” 

“ Oh, yes, I heard of it.” 

Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur of 
the burial-service in the chapel, and how it had im- 
pressed him, and he believed all the other boys. “ And 
though the Doctor never said a word about it,” said he^ 
“ and it was a half-holiday and match-day, there wasn’t 
a game played in the close all the afternoon, and the 
boys all went about as if it were Sunday.” 

“ I’m very glad of it,” said Arthur. “ But, Tom, 
I’ve had such strange thoughts about death lately. 
I’ve never told a soul of them, not even my mother. 
Sometimes I think they’re wrong ; but, do you know, 
I don’t think in my heart I could be sorry at the death 
of any of my friends.” 

Tom was taken quite aback. *‘What in the world 
is the young ’un after now? ” thought he; “ I’ve swal- 
lowed a good many of his crotchets, but this altogether 
beats me. He can’t be quite right in his head.” He 
didn’t want to say a word, and shifted about uneasily 
in the dark; however, Arthur seemed to be waiting 
for an answer, so at last he said, “ I don’t think I 
quite see what you mean, Geordie. One’s told so often 
to think about death, that I’ve tried it on some- 
times, especially this last week. But we won’t talk of it 


314 Arthur’s fever. 

now. I’d better go — you’re getting tired, and I shall 
do you harm.” 

*‘No, no, indeed I ain’t, Tom; you must stop till 
nine, there’s only twenty minutes. I’ve settled yot 
shall stop till nine. And oh ! do let me talk to you — ■ 
I must talk to you. I see it’s just as I feared. You 
think I’m half mad — don’t you now ? ” 

" Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, 
as you ask me.” 

Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly, 
“I’ll tell you how it all happened. At first, when I 
was sent to the sick room, and found I had really got 
the fever, I was terribly frightened. I thought I should 
die, and I could not face it for a moment. I don’t 
tliink it was sheer cowardice at first, but I thought how 
hard it was to be taken away from my mother and 
sisters, and you all, just as I was beginning to see my 
way to many things, and to feel that I might be a man 
and do a man’s work. To die without having fought, 
and worked, and given one’s life away, was too hard to 
bear. I got terribly impatient, and accused God of 
injustice, and strove to justify myself ; and the harder 
I strove the deeper I sank. Then the image of my 
dear father often came across me, but I turned from it. 
Whenever it came, a heavy numbing throb seemed to 
take hold of my heart and say, ‘Dead — dead — dead.’ 
And I cried out, ‘The living, the living shall praise 
Thee, 0 God ; the dead cannot praise Thee. There is 
no work in the grave ; in the night no man can work. 
But I can work. I can do great things. I will do 
great things. Why wilt Thou slay me?’ And so I 
struggled and plunged, deeper and deeper, and went 


ARTHUR’S VISION. ; 


315 


down into a living black tomb. I was alone there, with 
no power to stir or think ; alone with myself ; beyond 
the reach of all human fellowship; beyond Christ’s 
reach, I thought, in my nightmare. You, who are 
brave and bright and strong, can have no idea of that 
agony. Pray to God you never may. Pray as for 
your life.” 

Arthur stopped — from exhaustion, Tom thought ; but 
what between his fear lest Arthur should hurt himself, 
his awe, and longing for him to go on, he couldn’t ask, 
or stir to help him. 

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. “ I 
don’t know how long I was in that state. For more 
than a day, I know ; fcJr I was quite conscious, and 
lived my outer life all the time, and took my medicine, 
and spoke to my mother, and heard what they said. 
But I didn’t take much note of time ; I thought time 
was over for me, and that that tomb was what was 
beyond. Well, on last Sunday morning, as I seemed to 
lie in that tomb, alone, as I thought, for ever and ever, 
the black dead wall was cleft in two, and I was caught 
up and borne through into the light by some great 
power, some living mighty spirit. Tom, do you remem- 
ber the living creatures and the wheels in Ezekiel? 
It was just like that : ' when they \vent I heard the 
noise of their wings, like the noise of great waters, 
as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of speech, as the 
noise of an host; when they stood they let down their 
wings * — ‘ and they went every one straight forward ; 
whither the spirit was to go^ they went, and they 
turned not when they went.’ And we rushed through 
the bright air, which was full of myriads of living 


316 


ARTHUR’S VISION. 


creatures, and paused on the brink of a great river. 
And the power held me up, and I knew that that great 
river was the grave, and death dwelt there ; but not the 
death 'I had met in the black tomb — that I felt was 
gone for ever. For on the other bank of the great 
river I saw men and women and children rising up pure 
and bright, and the tears were wiped from their eyes, 
and they put on glory and strength, and all w^eariness 
and pain fell away. And beyond were a multitude 
which no man could number, and they worked at some 
great work ; and they who rose from the river w^ent on 
and joined in the work. They all worked, and each 
worked in a different Avay, but all at the same work. 
And I saw there my father, and the men in the old 
town whom I knew when I was a child ; many a hard 
stern man, who never came to church, and whom they 
called atheist and infidel. There they were, side by 
side with my father, whom I had seen toil and die for 
them, and women and little children, and the seal was 
on the foreheads of all. And I longed to see what the 
work was, and could not ; so I tried to plunge in the 
river, for I thought I would join them, but I could nob 
Then I looked about to see how they got into the river. 
And this I could not see, but I saw myriads on this 
side, and they too worked, and I knew that it was the 
same work ; and the same seal was on their foreheads. 
And though I saw that there was toil and anguish in 
the work of these, and that most that were working 
were blind and feeble, yet I longed no more to plunge 
into the river, but more and more to know what the 
work was. And as I looked I saw my mother and 
my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you, Tom, and 


aethur’s mother. 


317 


huTidr(>ds more whom I knew ; and at last I saw myself 
too, and I was toiling and doing ever so little a piece 
of the great work. Then it all melted away, and the 
power left me, and as it left me I thought I heard a 
voice say, ‘The vision is for an appointed time ; though 
it tarry, wait for it, for in the end it shall speak and 
not lie, it shall surely come, it shall not tarry.’ It was 
early morning I know then, it was so quiet and cool, 
and my mother was fast asleep in the chair by my bed- 
side ; but it wasn’t only a dream of mine. I know it 
wasn’t a dream. Then I fell into a deep sleep, and 
only woke after afternoon chapel ; and the Doctor came 
and gave me the sacrament, as I told you. I told him 
and my mother I should get well — I knew I should ; 
but I couldn’t tell them why. Tom,” said Arthur, 
gently, after another minute, “ do you see why I could 
not grieve now to see my dearest friend die ? It can't 
be — it isn’t, all fever or illness. God would never 
have let me see it so clear if it wasn’t true. I don’t 
understand it all yet — it will take me my life and 
longer to do that — to find out what the work is,” 

When Arthur stopped there was a long pause. ■ Tom 
could not speak, he was almost afraid to breathe, lest he 
should break the train of Arthur’s thoughts. He longed 
to hear more, and to ask questions. In another minute 
nine o’clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door called 
them both back into the world again. They did not 
answer, however, for a moment, and so the door opened 
and a lady came in carrying a candle. 

She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of 
Arthur’s hand, and then stooped down and kissed 
him. 


318 


ARTHUR’S MOTHER. 


“My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. 
Why didn’t you have lights ? You’ve talked too much 
and excited yourself in the dark.” 

“ Oh, no, mother ; you can’t think how well I feel. 
I shall start with you to-morrow for Devonshire. But, 
mother, here’s my friend, here’s Tom Brown — you know 
him ? ” 

“Yes, indeed, I’ve known him for years,” she said, 
and held out her hand to Tom, who was now standing 
up behind the sofa. This was Arthur’s mother. Tall 
and slight and fair, with masses of golden hair drawn 
back from the broad white forehead, and the calm blue 
eye meeting his so deep and open — the eye that he 
knew so well, for it was his friend’s over again, and the 
lovely tender mouth that trembled while he looked. 
She stood there a woman of thirty-eight, old enough to 
be his mother, and one whose lace showed the lines 
which must be written on the faces of good men’s wives 
and widows — but he thought he had never seen any- 
thing so beautiful. He couldn’t help wondering if 
Arthur’s sisters were like her. 

Tom held her hand, and looked on straight in her 
face ; he could neither let it go nor speak. 

“ Now, Tom,” said Arthur, laughing, “ where are 
your manners ? you’ll stare my mother out of counte- 
nance.” Tom dropped the little hand wdth a sigh. 

“ There, sit down, both of you. Here, dearest mother, 
there’s room here ; — ” and he made a place on the sofa 
for her. “ Tom, you needn’t go ; I’m sure you won’t 
be called up at first lesson.” Tom felt that he would 
risk being fioored at every lesson for the rest of his 
natural school-life sooner than go, so sat down. “ And 


tom’s rewards. 319 

now,” said Artlmr, I have realized one of the dearest 
wishes of my life — to see you two together.” 

And then he led away the talk to their home in 
Devonshire, and the red bright earth, and the deep 
green combes, and the peat streams like cairngorm 
pebbles, and the wild moor with its high cloudy Tors 
for a giant background to the picture — till Tom got 
jealous, and stood up for the clear chalk streams, and 
the emerald water meadows and great elms and willows 
of the dear old Koyal county, as he gloried to call it. 
And the mother sat on quiet and loving, rejoicing in 
their life. The quarter- to- ten struck, and the bell 
rang for bed before they had well begun their talk, as 
it seemed. 

Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. 

“ Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie?” said he, 
as he shook his friend’s hand. ""Never mind though; 
you’ll be back next half, and I shan't forget the house 
of Eimmon.” 

Arthur’s mother got up and walked with him to the 
door, and there gave him her hand again, and again 
his eyes met that deep loving look, which was like a 
spell upon him. Her voice trembled slightly as she 
said, "" Good night — you are one who knows what our 
Father has promised to the friend of the widow and the 
fatherless. IMay He deal with you as you have dealt 
with me and mine ! ” 

Tom was quite upset ; he mumbled something about 
owing everything good in him to Geordie — looked in 
her face again, pressed her hand to his lips, and rushed 
downstairs to his study, where he sat till old Thomas 
came kicking at the door, to tell him his allow- 


320 


TOMS KEWAKDS. 


ance would be stopped if be didn’t go off to bed. (It 
would have been stopped anyhow, but that he was a 
great favourite with the old gentleman, who loved to 
come out in the afternoons into the close to Tom’s 
wicket, and bowl slow twisters to him, and talk of the 
glories of bygone Surrey heroes, with whom he had 
played in former generations.) So Tom roused himself, 
and took up his candle to go to bed ; and then for the 
first time was aware of a beautiful new fishing-rod, with 
old Eton’s mark on it, and a splendidly bound Bible, 
which lay on his table, on the title-page of which was 
written — “ Tom Brown, from his affectionate and grate- 
ful friends, Frances Jane Arthur; George Arthur.” 

I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he 
dreamt o£ 


TOM SPPJNGS HIS MINE. 


S21 


CHAPTER VII. 

• HARRY east’s DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCEa 


“ The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 
lu whatso we share with another’s need— 

Not that which we give, but what we share. 

For the gift without the giver is bare : 

Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three, 

Himself, his hungering neighbour, and Me.” 

The Vision of Sir Launfal . — Lowell, p. 11. 



been to see Arthur, who had 
the subject, and what he had 


HE next morning, aftei 
breakfast, Tom, East, 
and Gower met as 
usual to learn their 
second lesson together. 
Tom had been con- 
sidering how to breaK 
' his proposal of giving 
up the crib to the 
others, and having 
found no better way (as 
indeed none better can 
ever be found by man 
or boy), told them 
simply what had hap- 
pened; how he had 
talked to him uf on 
said, and for his part 


Y 


322 


TOM SPRINGS HIS MINE. 


he had made up his mind, and wasn’t going to 
use cribs any more : and not being quite sure 
of his ground, took the high and pathetic tone, and 
was proceeding to say, how that having learnt his 
lessons with them for so many years, it ^vould grieve 
him much to put an end to the arrangement, and he 
hoped at any rate that if they wouldn’t go on with him, 
they should still be just as good friends, and respect 
one another’s motives — but — ” 

Here the other boys, who had been listening with 
open eyes and ears, burst in — 

“ Stuff and nonsense 1 ” cried Gower. Here, East, 
get down the crib and find the place.” 

“ Oh, Tommy, Tommy ! ” said East, proceeding to 
do as he was bidden, ‘^that it should ever have come 
to this. I knew Arthur ’d be the ruin of you some day, 
and you of me. And now the time’s come,” — and he 
made a doleful face. 

“ I don’t know about ruin,” answered Tom ; “ I know 
that you ^nd I would have had the sack long ago, if it 
hadn’t been for him. And you know it as well as I.” 

" Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, 
I own ; but this new crotchet of his is past a joke.” 

“ Let’s give it a trial, Harry ; come — you know how 
often he has been right and we wrong.” 

*'Now, don’t you two be jawing away about young 
Square-toes,” struck in Gower. He’s no end of a 
sucking wiseacre, I dare say, but we’ve no time to lose, 
and I’ve got the fives’-court at half-past nine.” 

“ I say, Gower,” said Tom, appealingly, “ be a good 
fellow, and let’s try if we can’t get on without the 
crib.” 


RESULTS OF THE EXPLOSION. 


323 


"What! in this chorus? Why, we shan’t get 
through ten lines.” 

" I say, Tom,” cried East, having hit on a new idea, 
" don’t you remember, when we were in the upper fourth, 
and old Mornus caught me construing off the leaf of a 
crib which I’d torn out and put in my book, and which 
would float out on to the floor, he sent me up to he 
flogged for it ? ” 

“ Yes, I remember it very well.” 

"Well, the Doctor, after he’d flogged me, told me 
himself that he didn’t flog me for using a translation 
but for taking it into lesson, and using it there when 
I hadn’t learnt a word before I came in. He said there 
was no harm in using a translation to get a clue to hard 
passages, if you tried all you could first to make them 
out without.” 

" Did he, though ? ” said Tom ; “ then Arthur must 
he wrong.” 

" Of course he is,” said Gower, " the little prig. 
We’ll only use the crib when we can’t construe without 
it. Go ahead. East.” 

And on this agreement they started : Tom satisfied 
with having made his confession, and not sorry to have 
a locus 'po&niUnticB, and not to be deprived altogether 
of the use of his old and faithful friend. 

The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence 
in turn, and the crib being handed to the one whose 
turn it was to construe. Of course Tom couldn’t object 
to this, as, was it not simply lying there to be appealed 
to in case the sentence should prove too hard altogether 
for the coristruer ? But it must be owned that Gower 
and East did not make very tremendous exertions to 

Y 2 


324 EESULTS OF THE EXPLOSION. 

conquer their sentences before having recourse to its 
help. Tom, ho\vever, with the most heroic virtue and 
gallantry rushed into his sentence, searching in a high- 
minded manner for nominative and verb, and turning 
over his dictionary frantically for the first hard word 
that stopped hina. But in the meantime Gower, who 
was bent on getting to fives, would peep quietly into 
the crib, and then suggest, “ Don’t you think this is 
the meaning ? ” “I think you must take it this way. 
Brown : ” and as Tom didn’t see his way to not profit- 
ing by these suggestions, the lesson went on about as 
quickly as usual, and Gower was able to start for the 
fives’-court within five minutes of the half-hour. 

When Tom and East were left face to face, they 
looked at one another for a minute, Tom puzzled, and 
East chock-full of fun, and then burst into a roar of 
laughter. 

‘‘ Well, Tom,” said East, recovering himself, “ I 
don’t see any objection to the new way. It’s about as 
good as the old one, I think ; besides the advantage it 
gives one of feeling virtuous, and looking down on one’s 
neighbours.” 

Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. “ I ain’t 
so sure,” said he; “you two fellows carried me off my 
legs : I don’t think we really tried one sentence fairly. 
Are you sure you remember what the Doctor said to 
you ? ” 

“Yes. And I’ll swear I couldn’t make out one of 
my sentences to-day. No, nor ever could. I really 
don't remember,” said East, speaking slowly and im- 
pressively, “to have come across one Latin or Greek 
sentence this half, that I could go and construe by the 


THE enemy’s defence. 325 

liglifc of nature. AVhereby I am sure Providence intended 
cribs to be used.” 

“ Tbe tiling to find out,” said Tom meditatively, “ is 
bow long one ought to grind at a sentence without 
looking at the crib. Now I think if one fairly looks 
out all the words one don’t know, and then can’t hit it, 
that’s enough.” 

“ To be sure, Tommy, said East demurely, but with 
a merry twinkle in his eye. “ Your new doctrine too, 
old fellow,” added he, “when one comes to think of it, 
is a cutting at the root of all school morality. You’ll 
take away mutual help, brotherly love, or in the vulgar 
tongue, giving construes, which I hold to be one of our 
highest virtues. For how can you distinguish between 
getting a construe from another boy, and using a crib ? 
Hang it, Tom, if you’re going to deprive all our school- 
fellows of the chance of exercising Christian benevolence 
and being good Samaritans, I shall cut the concern.” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t joke about it, Harry ; it’s hard 
enough to see one’s way, a precious sight harder than 
I thought last night. But I suppose there’s a use and 
an abuse of both, and one’ll get straight enough some- 
how. Bub you can’t make out anyhow that one has 
a right to use old vulgus-books and copy-books.” 

“ Hullo, more heresy I how iast a fellow goes down 
hill when he once gets his head before his legs. 
Listen to me, Tom. Not use old vulgus-books ? 
— why, you Goth ! ain’t we to take the benefit of the 
wisdom, and admire and use the work of past genera- 
tions ? Not use old copy-books ! AVhy you might as 
well say we ought to pull down Westminster Abbey, 
and put up a go-to-meeting-shop with churchwarden 


326 


THE enemy’s defence. 


windows ; or never read Shakespere, but only Sheridan 
Knowles. Think of all the work and labour that our 
predecessors have bestowed on these vefy books ; and 
are we to make their work of no value ? ” 

1 say, Harry, please don’t chaff ; I’m really serious.” 

And then, is it not our duty to consult the pleasure 
of others rather than our own, and above all that of our 
masters ? Fancy then the difference to them in looking 
over a vulgus which has been carefully touched and 
retouched by themselves and others, and which must 
bring them a sort of dreamy pleasure, as if they’d met 
the thought or expression of it somewhere or another — 
before they were born perhaps ; and that of cutting up, 
and making picture-frames round all your and my false 
quantities, and other monstrosities. Why, Tom, you 
wouldn’t be so cruel as never to let old Momus hum 
over the ' O genus humanum,’ again, and then look up 
doubtingly through his spectacles, and end by smiling 
and giving three extra marks for it ; just for old sake’s 
sake, I suppose.” 

Well,” said Tom, getting up in something as like 
a huff as he was capable of, “ it’s deuced hard that 
when a fellow ’s really trying to do what he ought, his 
best friends ’ll do nothing but chaff him and try to put 
him down.” And he stuck his books under his arm 
and his hat on his head, preparatory to rushing out into 
the quadrangle, to testify with his own soul of the faith- 
lessness of friendships. 

“Kow don’t be an ass, Tom,” said East, catching- 
hold of him, “ you know me well enough by this time ; 
my bark’s worse than my bite. You can’t expect to 
ride your new crotchet without anybody’s trying to stick 


THE enemy’s defence. 


327 


a nettle under his tail and make him kick you off : 
especially as we shall all have to go on foot still. But 
now sit down and let’s go over it again. I’ll be as 
serious as a judge.” 

Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed 
eloquent about all the righteousnesses and advantages 
of the new plan, as was his wont whenever he took up 
anything ; going into it as if his life depended upon it, 
and sparing no abuse which he could think of of the 
opposite method, which he denounced as ungentlemanly, 
cowardly, mean, lying, and no one knows what besides. 
“Very cool of Tom,” as East thought, but didn’t say, 
seeing as how he only came out of Egypt himself last 
night at bed-tirne.” 

“Well, Tom,” said he at last, “you see, when }ou 
'^nd I came to school there were none of these sort of 
notions. You may be right — I dare say you are. Only 
what one has aljvays felt about the masters is, that it’s 
a fair trial of skill and last between us and them — like 
a match at football, or a battle. We’re natural enemies 
in scb.ool. that’s the fact. We’ve got to learn so much 
Latin and Greek and do so many verses, and they’ve 
got to see that we do it. If we can slip the collar and 
do so much less without getting caught, that’s one to 
us. If they can get more out of us, or catch us shirk- 
ing, that’s one to them. All’s fair in war, but lying. 
If I run my luck against theirs, and go into school 
without looking at my lessons, and don’t get called up, 
why am I a snob or a sneak ? I don’t tell the master 
I’ve learnt it. He’s got to find out whether I have or 
noi. , what’s he paid for ? If he calls me up, and I get 
floored, he makes me write it out in Greek and English. 


328 


THE TRUCE. 


Very good, he’s caught me, and I don’t grumble. I 
grant you, if I go and snivel to him, and tell him I’ve 
really tried to learn it but found it so hard without a 
translation, or say I’ve had a toothache, or any humbug 
of that kind, I’m a snob. That’s my school morality ; 
it’s served me — and you too, Tom, for the matter of that — 
these five years. And it’s all clear and fair, no mistake 
about it. We understand it, and they understand it> 
and I don’t know wdiat we’re to come to with any other.’* 

Tom looked at him pleased, and a little puzzled. He 
had never heard East speak his mind seriously before, 
and couldn’t help feeling how completely he had hit his 
own theory and practice up to that time. 

“Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “You’re a good 
old brick to be serious, and not put out with me. I said 
more than I meant, I dare say, only you see I know 
I’m right : whatever you and Gower and the rest do, I 
shall hold on — I must. And as it’s all new and an 
up-hill game, you see, one must hit hard and hold on 
tight at first.” 

“Very good,” said East; “hold on and hit away, only 
don’t hit under the line.” 

“But I must bring you over, Harry,' or I shan’t be 
comfortable. How, I allow all you’ve said. We’ve 
always been honourable enemies with the masters. We 
found a state of war when we came, and went into it of 
course. Only don’t you think things are altered a good 
deal? I don’t feel as I used to the masters. They 
seem to me to treat one quite differently.” 

“Yes, perhaps they do,” said East; “there’s a new 
set, you see, mostly, who don’t feel sure of themselves yet. 
They don’t want to fight till they know the ground.** 


ATITHUR GOES HOME. 


329 


“I don’t think it’s only that,” said Tom. ‘*And 
then the Doctor, he does treat one so openly, and like 
a gentleman, and as if one was working with him.” 

“Well, so he does,” said East; “he’s a splendid 
fellow, and when I get into the sixth I shall act 
accordingly. Only you know he has nothing to do with 
our lessons now, except examining us. I say, though,” 
looking at his watch, “it’s just the quarter. Come 
along.” 

As they walked out they got a message to say, “ that 
Arthur was just starting and would like to say good- 
bye ; ” so they went down to the private entrance of the 
School- house, and found an open carriage, with Arthur 
propped up with pillows in it, looking already better, 
Tom thought. 

They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands with 
him, and Tom mumbled thanks for the presents he had 
found in his study, and looked round anxiously for 
Arthur’s mother. 

East, who had fallen back into his usual humour 
looked quaintly at Arthur, and said — 

“ So you’ve been at it again, through that hot-headed 
convert of yours there. He’s been making our lives 
a burthen to us all the morning about using cribs. I 
shall get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I’m 
called up.” 

Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in — 

“Oh, it’s all right. He’s converted already; he 
always comes through the mud after us, grumbling and 
sputtering.” 

The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, 
wishing Arthur a pleasant holiday; Tom lingering 


330 


THE SIEGE KEOPENS. 


behind a moment to send his thanks and love to 
Arthur’s mother. 

Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and 
succeeded so far as to get East to promise to give the 
new plan a fair trial. 

Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when 
they were sitting alone in the large study, where East 
lived now almost, vice Arthur on leave,” after examin- 
ing the new fishing-rod, which both pronounced to be 
the genuine article, play enough to throw a midge 
tied on a single hair against the wind, and strength 
enough to hold a grampus,”) they naturally began 
talking about Arthur. Tom, who was still bubbling 
over with last night’s scene, and all the thoughts of the 
last week, and wanting to clinch and fix the whole in 
his own mind, which he could never do without first 
going through the process of belabouring somebody else 
with it all, suddenly rushed into the subject of Arthur’s 
illness, and what he had said about death. 

East had given him the desired opening: after a 
serio-comic grumble, “that life wasn’t worth having 
now they were tied to a young beggar who was always 
‘raising his standard;’ and that he. East, was like a 
prophet’s donkey, who was obliged to struggle on after 
the donkey-man who went after the prophet ; that he 
had none of the pleasure of starting the new crotchets, 
and didn’t half understand them, but had to take the 
kicks and carry the luggage as if he had all the fun ” — 
he threw his legs up on to the sofa, and put his hands 
behind his head, and said — 

“Well, after all, he’s the most wonderful little fellow 
I ever came across. There ain’t such a meek, humble 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED. 


331 


boy in the School. Hanged if I don’t think now really, 
Tom, that he believes himself a much worse fellow 
than you or I, and that he don’t think he has more 
influence in the house than Dot Bowles, who caine last 
quarter, and ain’t ten yet. But he turns you and me 
round his little Anger, old boy — there’s no mistake 
about that.” And East nodded at Tom sagaciously. 

“Now or never!” thought Tom; so shutting his 
eyes and hardening his heart, he went straight at it, 
repeating all that Arthur had said, as near as he could 
remember it, in the very words, and all he had himself 
thought. The life seemed to ooze out of it as he went 
on, and several times he felt inclined to stop, give it all 
up, and change the subject. But somehow he was 
borne on ; he had a necessity upon him to speak it all 
out, and did so. At the end he looked at East with 
some anxiety, and was delighted to see that that young 
gentleman was thoughtful and attentive. The fact is, 
that in the stage of his inner life at which Tom had 
lately arrived, his intimacy with and^ friendship for East 
could not have lasted if he had uot made him aware of, 
and a sharer in, the thoughts that were beginning to 
exercise him. Nor indeed could the friendship have 
lasted if East had shown no sympathy with these* 
thoughts; so that it was a gieat relief to have un- 
bosomed himself, and to have found that his friend 
could listen. 

Tom had always had a sort of instinct that East’s 
levity was only skin-deep ; and this instinct was a true 
one. East had no want of reverence for anything he 
felt to be real : but his was one of those natures that 
burst into what is generally called recklessness and 


332 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED. 


impiety the moment they feel that anything is being 
poured upon them for their good, which does not come 
home to their inborn sense of right, or which appeals to 
anything like self-interest in them. Daring and honest 
by nature, and outspoken to an extent which alarmed 
aU. respectabilities, with a constant fund of animal health 
and spirits which he did not feel bound to curb in any 
way, he had gained for himself v/ith the steady part 
of the School (including as well those who wished to 
appear steady as those who really were so), the 
character of a boy whom it would be daugerous to be 
intimate with ; while his own hatred of everything cruel, 
or underhand, or false, and his hearty respect for what 
he could see to be good and true, kept off the rest. 

Tom, besides being very like East in many points of 
character, had largely developed in his composition 
the capacity for taking the weakest side. This is not 
putting it strongly enough ; it was a necessity with him ; 
he couldn’t help it any more than he could eating or 
drinking. He could never play on the strongest side 
with any heart at foot-ball or cricket, and was sure to 
make friends with any boy who was unpopular, or down 
on his luck. 

How though East was not what is generally called 
unpopular, Tom felt more and more every day, as their 
characters developed, that he stood alone, and did mot 
make friends among their contemporaries, and therefore 
sought him out. Tom was himself much more popular, 
for his power of detecting humbug was much less acute, 
and his instincts were much more sociable. He was at 
this period of his life, too, largely given to taking 
people for what they gave themselves out to be; but 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED. 


333 


his singleness of heart, fearlessness and honesty were 
just what East appreciated, and thus the two had been 
drawn into greater intimacy. 

This intimacy had not been interrupted by Tom’s 
guardianship of Arthur. 

East had often, as has been said, joined them in read- 
ing the Bible ; but their discussions had almost always 
turned upon the characters of the men and women of 
whom they read, and not become personal to themselves. 
In fact, the two had shrunk from personal religious 
discussion, not knowing how it might end; and fearful 
of risking a friendship very dear to both, and which they 
felt somehow, without quite knowing why, would never 
be the same, but either tenfold stronger or sapped at 
its foundation, , after such a communing together. 

What a bother all this explaining is! I wish we 
could get on without it. But we can’t. However, you’ll 
all find, if you haven’t found it out already, that a time 
comes in every human friendship, when you must go 
down into the depths of yourself, and lay bare what is 
there to your friend, and wait in fear for his answer. 
A few moments may do it ; and it may be (most likely 
will be, as you are English boys) that ypn' never do it 
but once. But done it must be, if the friendship is to 
be worth the name. You must find what is there, at 
the very root and bottom of one another’s hearts ; and 
if you are at once there, nothing on earth can, or at least 
ought to sunder you. ( 

East had remained lying down until Tom finished 
speaking, as if fearing to interrupt him ; he now sat up 
at the table, and leant his head on one hand, taking up 
a pencil with the other, and working little holes with it 


334 


east’s confessions. 


ill the table-cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped 
the pencil, and said, “ Thank you very much, old fellow ; 
there’s no other boy in the house would have done it for 
me but you or Arthur. I can see well enough,” he 
went on after a pause, “ all the best big fellows look on 
me with suspicion; they think I’m a devil-may-care, 
reckless young scamp. So I am — eleven hours out of 
twelve — but not the twelfth. Then all of our contem- 
poraries worth knowing follow suit, of course; we’re 
very good friends at games and all that, but not a soul 
of them but you and Arthur ever tried to break through 
the crust, and see whether there was anything at the 
bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won’t stand, 
and they know that.” 

“ Don’t you think that’s half fancy, Harry ? ” 

“Not a bit of it,” said East bitterly, pegging away 
with his pencil. “ I see it all plain enough. Bless you, 
you think everybody’s as straightforward and kind- 
hearted as you are.” 

“ Well, but what’s the reason of it ? There must 
be a reason. You can play all the games as well as 
any one, and sing the best song, and are the best com- 
pany in the house. You fancy you’re not liked, Harry. 
It’s all fancy.” 

“ I only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be 
popular enough with all the bad ones, but that I won’t 
have, and the good ones won’t have me.” 

“ Why not ? ” persisted Tom ; “ you don’t drink or 
swear, or get out at night ; you never bully, or cheat 
at lessons. If you only showed you liked it, you’d 
have all the best fellows in the house running after 
you.” 


east’s confessions. 


335 


“Not I,” said East. Then with an effort he went 
on, “ ril tell you what it is. I never stop the Sacra- 
ment. I can see, from the Doctor downwards, how 
that tells against me.” 

“Yes, I’ve seen that,” said Tom, “and T’ve been 
very sorry for it, and Arthur and I have talked about 
it. I’ve often thought- of speaking to you, but it’s so 
hard to begin on such subjects. I’m very glad you’ve 
opened it. Now, why don’t you ? ” 

“ I’ve never been confirmed,” said East. 

“Not been confirmed!” said Tom in astonishment. 
“ I never thought of that. Why weren’t you confirmed 
with the rest of us nearly three years ago ? I always 
thought you’d been confirmed at home.” 

“No,” answered East sorrowfully; “you see this 
was how it happened. Last Confirmation was soon 
after Arthur came, and you were so taken up with him, 
I hardly saw either of you. Well, when the Doctor 
sent round for us about it, I was living mostly with 
Green’s set — you know the sort. They all went in — I 
dare say it was all right, and they got good by it ; I 
don’t want to judge them. Only all I could see of 
their reasons drove me just the other way. ’Twas 
* because the Doctor liked it ; ’ 'no boy got on who 
didn’t stay the Sacrament ; ’ ' it was the correct thing,’ 
in fact, like having a good hat to wear on Sundays. I 
couldn’t stand it. I didn’t feel that I wanted to lead a 
different life, I vvas very well content as I was, and I 
wasn’t going to sham religious to curry favour with the 
Doctor, or any one else.” 

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more dili- 
gently than ever with his pencil. Tom was ready to 


336 


east’s confessions. 


cry. He felt half sorry at first that he had been con- 
firmed himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliest 
friend, to have left him by himself at his worst need for 
those long years. He got up and went and sat by East 
and put his arm over his shoulder. 

“Dear old boy,” he said, “how careless and selfish 
I’ve been. But why didn’t you come and talk to Arthur 
and me ? ” 

“ I wish to heaven I had,” said East, “ but I was a 
fool. It’s too late talking of it now.” 

“ AVhy too late ? You want to be confirmed now, 
don’t you ? ” 

“I think so,” said East. “I’ve thought about it a 
good deal ; only often I fancy I must be changing, be- 
cause I see it’s to do me good here, just what stopped 
me last time. And then I go back again.” 

“ I’ll tell you now how ’twas with me,” said Tom 
warmly. “ If it hadn’t been for Arthur, I should have 
done just as you did. 1 hope I should. I honour you 
for it. But then he made it out just as if it was taking 
the weak side before all the world — going in once for 
all against everything that’s strong and rich and proud 
and respectable, a little band of brothers against the 
whole world. And the Doctor seemed to say so too, 
only he said a great deal more.” 

“ Ah ! ” groaned East, “ but there again, that’s just 
another of my difficulties whenever I think about the 
matter. I don’t want to be one of your saints, one of 
your elect, whatever the right phrase is. My sympa- 
thies are all the other way ; with the many, the poor 
devils who run about the streets and don’t go to church. 
Don’t stare, Tom ; mind, I’m telling you all that’s in my 


tom’s prescription. 


337 


heart — as far as I know it — but it’s all a muddle. 
You must be gentle with me if you want to land me. 
Now I’ve seen a deal of this sort of religion ; I was bred 
up in it, and I can’t stand it. If nineteen-twentieths 
of the world are to be left to uncovenanted mercies, and 
that sort of thing, which means in plain English to go 
to hell, and the other twentieth are to rejoice at it all, 
why 

“ Oh ! but, Harry, they ain’t, they don’t,” broke in 
Tom, really shocked. Oh, how I wish Arthur hadn’t 
gone ! I’m such a fool about these things. But it’s 
all you want too, East ; it is indeed. It cuts both ways 
somehow, being confirmed and taking the Sacrament. 
It makes you feel on the side of all the good and all 
the bad too, of everybody in the world. Only there’s 
some great dark strong power, which is crushing you 
and everybody else. That’s what Christ conquered, and 
we’ve got to fight. What a fool I am ! I can’t explain. 
If Arthur were only here 1 ” 

‘‘ I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean,” 
said East. 

" I say now/’ said Tom eagerly, “ do you remember 
how we both hated Flashman ? ” 

Of course I do,” said East ; " I hate him still 
What then?” 

" Well, when I came to take the Sacrament, I had 
a great struggle about that. I tried to put him out of 
my head ; and when I couldn’t do that, I tried to think 
of him as evil, as something that the Lord who was 
loving me hated, and which I might hate too. But it 
wouldn’t do. I broke down : I believe Christ himself 
broke me down; and when the Doctor gave me the 

z 


338 


tom’s prescription. 


bread and wine, and leant over me praying, I prayed 
for poor Flashman, as if it had been you or Arthur.” 

East buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom 
could feel the table tremble. At last he looked up, 
“ Thank you again, Tom,” said he ; “ you don’t know 
what you may have done for me to-night. I think I 
see now how tlie right sort of sympathy with poor devils 
is got at.” 

“ And you’ll stop the Sacrament next time, won’t 
you ? ” said Tom. 

“ Can I, before I’m confirmed ? ” 

“ Go and ask the Doctor.” 

“ I will.” 

That very night, after prayers, East followed the 
Doctor and the old Verger bearing the candle, up-stairs. 
Tom watched, and saw the Doctor turn round when he 
heard footsteps following him closer than usual, and say, 
“ Hah, East ! Do you want to speak with me, my man ? ” 

“If you please, sir;” and the private door closed 
and Tom went to his study in a state of great trouble 
of mind. 

It was almost an hour before East came back : then 
he rushed in breathless. 

“Well, it’s all right,” he shouted, seizing Tom by 
the hand. “ I feel as if a ton- weight were off my mind.” 

“ Hurra,” said Tom. “ I knew it would be ; but tell 
us all about it ? ” ^ m 

“ Well, I just told him all about it. You can’t think 
how kind and gentle he was, the great grim man, whom 
I’ve feared more than anybody on earth. AVhen I 
stuck, he lifted me, just as if I had been a little child. 
And he seemed to know all I’d felt, and to have gone 


THE EFFECT THEREOF. 


339 


through it all. And I hurst out crying — more than 
Tve done this five years ; and he sat down by me, and 
stroked my head ; and I went blundering on, and told 
him all ; much worse things than Tve told you. And 
he wasn’t shocked a bit, and didn’t snub me, or tell me I 
was a fool, and it was all nothing but pride or wicked- 
ness, though I dare say it was. And he didn’t tell me not 
to follow out my thoughts, and he didn’t give me any 
cut-and-dried explanation. But when I’d done he just 
talked a bit— I can hardly remember what he said yet ; 
but it seemed to spread round me like healing, and 
strength, and light ; and to bear me up, and plant me 
on a rock, where I could hold my footing, and fight for 
myself. I don’t know what to do, I feel so happy. 
And it’s all owing to you, dear old boy 1 ” and he seized 
Tom’s hand again. 

‘"And you’re t.o come to the Communion?” said 
Tom. 

** Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays.” 

Tom’s delight was as great as his friend’s. But he 
hadn’t yet had out all his own talk, and was bent on 
improving the occasion: so he proceeded to propound 
Arthur’s theory about not being sorry for his friends’ 
deaths, which he had hitherto kept in the background, 
and by which he was much exercised ; for he didn’t feel 
it honest to take what pleased him and throw over the 
rest, and was trying vigorously to persuade himself that 
he should like all his best friends to die off-hand. 

But East’s powers of remaining serious were ex- 
hausted, and in five minutes he was saying the most 
ridiculous things he could think of, till Tom was almost 
getting angry again. 

z 2 


34.0 


THE EFFECT. 


Despite of himself, however, he couldn’t help laugh- 
ing and giving it up, when East appealed to him with 
“Well, Tom, you ain’t going to punch my head, I 
hope, because I insist upon being sorry when you got 
to earth ? ” 

And so their talk finished for that time, and they 
tried to learn first lesson ; with very poor success, as 
appeared next morning, when they were called up and 
narrowly escaped being floored, which ill-luck, how- 
ever, did not sit heavily on either of their souls. 


TOM brown’s last MATCH. 


341 


CHAPTER YIII. 

TOM brown’s last MATCH. 

* Heaven grant the manlier heart, that timely, ere 
Youth fly, with life’s real tempest would be coping ; 

The fruit of di eaniy hoping 
Is, waking, blank despair.” 

Clouoel Ambarvalia. 

HE curtain now 
rises upon the 
last act of our 
little drama — for 
hard - hearted 
publishers warn 
me that a single 
volume must of 
necessity have 
an end. Well, 
well ! the plea- 
santest things 
must come to 
an end. I little 
thought last long 
vacation, when 
I began these 
pages to help 
while away some spare time at a watering-place 
how vividly many an old scene, which had lain hid 



342 


SCHOOL MEMORIES. 


away for years in some dusty old corner of my brain, 
would come back again, and stand before me as clear 
and bright as if it had happened yesterday. The 
book has been a most grateful task to me, and I only 
hope that all you, my dear young friends who read it, 
(friends assuredly you must be, if you get as far as this,) 
will be half as sorry to come to the last stage as I am. 

Not but what there has been a solemn and a sad 
side to it. As the old scenes became living, and the 
actors in them became living too, many a grave in the 
Crimea and distant India, as well as in the quiet 
churchyards of our dear old country, seemed to open 
and send forth their dead, and their voices and looks 
and ways were again in one’s ears and eyes, as in the 
old school-days. But this was not sad ; how should 
it be, if we believe as our Lord has taught us ? How 
should it be, when, one more turn of the wheel, and we 
shall be by their sides again, learning from them again, 
perhaps, as we did when we were new boys ? 

Then there were others of the old faces so dear to 
us once, who had somehow or another just gone clean 
out of sight — are they dead or living ? We know not ; 
but the thought of them brings no sadness with it. 
Wherever they are, we can well believe they are doing 
God’s work and getting His wages. 

But are there not some, whom we still see some- 
times in the streets, whose haunts and homes we know, 
whom we could probably find almost any day in the 
week if we were set to do it, yet from whom we are 
really fiirther than we are from the dead, and from 
those who have gone out of our ken ? Yes. there are 
and must be such ; and therein lies the sadness of old 


SCnOOL MEMORIES. 


343 


School memories. Yet of these our old comrades, from 
whom more than time and space separate us, there are 
some, by whose sides we can feel sure that we shall 
stand again when time shall be no more. We may 
think of one another now as dangerous fanatics or 
narrow bigots, with whom no truce is possible, from 
whom we shall only sever more and more to the end of 
our lives, whom it would be our respective duties to 
imprison or hang, if we had the power. We must go 
our way, and they theirs, as long as flesh and spirit 
hold together ; but let our own Eugby poet speak words 
of healing for this trial : — 

“ To veer how vain ! on, onward strain, 

Brave barks ! in light, in darkness too ; 

Through winds and tides one compass guides. 

To that, and your own selves, be true. 

* But, O blithe breeze ! and O great seas ! 

Though ne’er that earliest parling past, 

On your wide plain they join again. 

Together lead them home at last. 

“ One port, methought, alike they sought. 

One purpose hold where’er they fare. 

0 bounding breeze ! O rushing seas ! 

At last, at last, unite them there.” * 

This is not mere longing, it is prophecy. So over 
these two, our old friends who are friends no more, we 
sorrow not as men without hope. It is only for those 
who seem to us to have lost compass and purpose, and 
to be driven helplessly on rocks and quicksands ; whose 
lives are spent in the service of the world, the flesh, 
and the devil ; for self alone, and not for their fellow- 
men, their country, dr their God, that we must mourn 
and pray without sure hope and without light ; trusting 


• Clough. Amiarvalia, 


344 THE END OF THE HALF YEAR. 

only tliat He, in whose hands they as well as we are 
who has died for them as well as for us, who sees all 
His cieatures 

** With larger, other eyes than ours, 

To make allowance for us all,” 

will, in His own way and at His own time, lead them 
also home. 

-••••• 

Another two years have passed, and it is again the 
end of the summer half-year at Piughy ;• in fact, the 
School has broken up. The fifth-form examinations 
were over last week, and upon them have followed the 
Speeches, and the sixth-form examinations for Exhibi- 
tions ; and they too are over now. The boys have gone 
to all the winds of heaven, except the town boys and 
the eleven, and the few enthusiasts besides who have 
asked leave to stay in their houses to see the result 
of the cricket-matches. Eor this year the Wellesburn 
return match and the Marylebone match are played at 
Eugby, to the great delight of the town and neighbour- 
hood, and the sorrow of those aspiring young cricketers 
who have been reckoning for the last three months on 
showing oft at Lord's ground. 

The Doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, 
after an interview with the captain of the eleven, in 
the presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in what 
School the cricket dinners were to be, and all other 
matters necessary for the satisfactory carrying out of 
the festivities ; and warned them as to keeping all 
spirituous liquors out of the close, and having the gates 
closed by nine o’clock. 

The Wellesburn match was played out with great 


THE END OE THE HALF YEAR. 


345 


success yesterday, the School winning by three wichets ; 
and to-day the great event of the cricketing year, the 
Marylebone match, is being played. What a match 
it has been ! The London eleven came down by an 
afternoon train yesterday, in time to see the end of 
the Wellesburn match; and as soon as it was over, 
their leading men and umpire inspected the ground, 
criticising it rather unmercifully. The Captain of the 
School eleven, and one or two others, who had played 
the Lord’s match before, and knew old Mr. Aislabie 
and several of the Lord’s men, accompanied them: 
while the rest of the eleven looked on from under the 
Three Trees with admiring eyes, and asked one another 
the names of the illustrious strangers, and recounted 
how many runs each of them had made in the late 
matches in BelVs Life. They looked such hard-bitten, 
wiry, whiskered fellows, that their young adversaries 
felt rather desponding as to the result of the morrow^’s 
match. The ground was at last chosen, and two men 
set to work upon it to water and roll ; and then, there 
being yet some half-hour of daylight, some one had 
suggested a dance on the turh The close was half full 
of citizens and their families, and the idea was hailed 
with enthusiasm. The cornopean-player was still on 
the ground; in five minutes the eleven and half-a- 
dozen of the Wellesburn and Marylebone men got 
partners somehow or another, and a merry country- 
dance was going on, to which every one flocked, and 
new couples joined in every minute, till there were a 
hundred of them going down the middle and up again 
— and the long line of School buildings looked gravely 
down on them, every window glowing with the last rays 


X 


346 


CKICKET-MATCHES. 


of the western sun, and the rooks clanged about in the 
tops of the old elms, greatly excited, and resolved on 
having their country-dance too, and the great flag 
flapped lazily in the gentle western breeze. Altogether 
it was a sight which would have made glad the heart 
of our brave old founder, Lawrence Sheriff, if he were 
half as good a fellow as I take him to have been. 
It was a cheerful sight to see ; but what made it so 
valuable in the sight of the Captain of the School 
eleven was, that he there saw his young hands shaking 
off their shyness and awe of the Lord’s men, as they 
crossed hands and capered about on the grass together ; 
for the strangers entered into it all, and threw away their 
cigars, and danced and shouted like boys ; while old 
Mr. Aislabie stood by looking on in his white hat, 
leaning on a bat, in benevolent enjoyment. “ This hop 
will be worth thirty runs to us to-morrow, and will be 
the making of Kaggles and Johnson,” thinks the young 
leadei', as he revolves many things in his mind, standing 
by the side of Mr. Aislabie, whom he will not leave for 
a minute, for he feels that the character of the School 
for courtesy is resting on his shoulders. 

But when a quarter-to-nine struck, and he saw old 
Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys in his 
hand, he thought of the Doctor’s parting monition, and 
stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding the 
loud-voiced remonstrances from all sides ; and the crowd 
scattered away from the close, the eleven all going into 
the School-house, where supper and beds were provided 
for them by the Doctor’s orders. 

Deep had been the consultations at supper as lo 
the order of going in, who should bowl the first over, 


CKICKET-MATCHES. 


347 


whether it would be best to play steady or freely ; and 
the youngest hands declared that they shouldn’t be a 
bit nervous, and praised their opponents as the joUiest 
fellows in the world, except perhaps their old friends 
the Wellesburn men. How far a liltl ^ good-nature from 
their elders will go with the right sort of boys ! 

The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the 
intense relief of many an anxious youngster, up betimes 
to mark the signs of the weather. The eleven went 
down in a body before breakfast, for a plunge in the 
cold bath in the corner of the close. The ground was 
in splendid order, and soon after ten o’clock, before 
spectators had arrived, all was ready, and two of the 
Lord’s men took their places at the wicket ; the School, 
with the usual liberality of young hands, having put 
their adversaries in first. Old Bailey stepped up to the 
wicket, and called play, and the match has begun. 

“Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnson!” cries 
the captain, catching up the ball and sending it high 
above the rook trees, while the third Marylebone 
man walks away from the wicket, and old Bailey 
gravely sets up the middle stump again and puts the 
bails on. 

“ How many runs ? ” Away scamper three boys to 
the scoring- table, and are back again in a minute 
’ amongst the rest of the eleven, who are collected to- 
gether in a knot between wicket. “ Only eighteen runs, 
and three wickets down ! ” “ Huzza for old Rugby ! ” 

sings out Jack Raggles the long-stop, toughest and 
builiest of boys, commonly called ‘ Swiper Jack and 
forthwith stands on his head, and brandishes his legs in 


348 


THE MARYLEBOJSE MATCH. 


the air in triumph, till the next hoy cntches hold of his 
heels, and throws him over on to his back. 

Steady there, don’t be such an ass, Jack,” says the 
captain; ‘‘we haven’t got the best wicket yet. Ah, 
look out now at cover-point,” adds he, as he sees a long- 
armed, bare-headed, slashing-looking player coming to 
the wicket. “And, Jack, mind your hits; he steals 
more runs than any man in England.” 

And they all find that they have got their work to 
do now : the new-comer’s off-hitting is tremendous, aud 
his running like a flash of lightning. He is never in 
his ground, except when his wicket is down. Nothing 
in the whole game so trying to boys; he has stolen 
three byes in the first ten minutes, and Jack Eaggles 
is furious, and begins throwing over savagely to the 
further wicket, until he is sternly stopped by the 
captain. It is all that young gentleman can do to 
keep his team steady, but he knows that everything 
depends on it, and faces his work bravely. The score 
creeps up to fifty, the boys begin to look blank, and 
the spectators, who are now mustering strong, are very 
silent. The ball flies off his bat to all parts of the 
field, and he gives no rest and no catches to any one. 
But cricket is full of glorious chances, and the goddess 
who presides over it loves to bring down the most 
skilful players. Johnson, the young bowler, is getting 
wild, and bowls a ball almost wide to the off; the 
batter steps out and cuts it beautifully to where cover- 
point is standing very deep, in fact almost off the 
ground. The ball comes skimming and twisting along 
about three feet from the ground ; he rushes at it, and 
it sticks somehow or other in the fingers of his left 


SOME OLD FKIENDS. 


849 


hand, to the utter astonishment of himself and the 
whole field. Such a catch hasn’t been made in the 
close for years, and the cheering is maddening Pretty 
cricket,” says the captain, throwing himself on the 
ground by the deserted wicket with a long breath ; he 
feels that a crisis has passed. 

I wish I had space to describe the whole match ; how 
the captain stumped the next man off a leg-shooter, 
and bowled slow lobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who came in 
for the last wicket. How the Lord’s men were out by 
half-past twelve o’clock for ninety-eight runs. How 
the Captain of the School eleven went in first to give 
his men pluck, and scored twenty-five in beautiful 
style; how Rugby was only four behind in the first 
innings. What a glorious dinner they had in the 
fourth-form School, and how the cover-point hitter sang 
the most topping comic songs, and old Mr. Aislabie 
made the best speeches that ever were heard, afterwards., 
But I haven’t space, that’s the fact, and so you must 
fancy it all, and carry yourselves on to half-past seven 
o’clock, when the School are again in, with five wickets 
down and only thirty-two runs to make to win. The 
Marylebone men played carelessly in their second 
innings, but they are working like horses now to save 
the match. 

There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scattered 
up and dowm the close ; but the group to which I beg 
to call your especial attention is there, on the slope 
of the island, which looks towards the cricket-ground. 
It consists of three figures ; two are seated on a bench, 
and one on the ground at their feet. The first, a tall, 
slight, and rather gaunt man with a bushy eyebrow 


350 


SOME OLD mENDS, 


and a dry humorous smile, is evidently a clergyman. 
He is carelessly dressed, and looks rather used up, 
which isn't much to be wondered at, seeing that he has 
just finished six weeks of examination work ; but there 
he basks, and spreads himself out in the evening sun, 
bent on enjoying life, though he doesn't quite know 
• what to do with his arms and legs. Surely it is our 
friend the young master, whom we have had glimpses 
of before, but his face has gained a great deal since we 
last came across him. 

And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, 
straw hat, the captain's belt, and the untanned yellow 
cricket shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a strapping 
figure near six feet high, with ruddy tanned face and 
w^hiskers, curly brown hair and a laughing dancing eye. 
He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his 
knees, and dandling his favourite bat, with which he 
has made thirty or forty runs to-day, in his strong 
brown hands. It is Tom Brown, grown into a young 
man nineteen years old, a praepostor and captain of the 
eleven, spending his last day as a Bugby boy, and let 
us hope as much wiser as he is bigger since we last 
had the pleasure of coming across him. 

And at their feet on the warm dry ground, similarly 
dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat 
across his knees. He too is no longer a boy, less of 
a boy in fact than Tom, if one may judge from the 
thoughtfulness of his face, which is somewhat paler too 
than one could wish ; but his figure, though slight, is 
well knit and active, and all his old timidity has dis- 
appeared, and is replaced by silent quaint fun, with 
which his face twinkles all over, as he listens to the 




THE CONVERSATION DURING THE MATCH 


P. 34? 




AND THEIR TALK. 351 

broken talk between the other two, in which he joins 
every now and then. 

All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining 
in the cheering which follows every good hit. It is 
pleasing to see the easy, friendly footing which the 
pupils are on with their master, perfectly respectful, > 
yet with no reserve and nothing forced in their inter- 
course. Tom has clearly abandoned the old theory of 
“ natural enemies,” in this case at any rate. 

But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and 
see what we can gather out of it. 

‘‘I don’t object to your theory,” says the master, 

“ and I allow you have made a fair case for yourself. 
But now, in such books as Aristophanes for instance, 
you’ve been reading a play this half with the Doctor, 
haven’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, the Knights,” ans\^ered Tom. 

Well, I’m sure you would hgve enjoyed the won- 
derful humour of it twice as much if you had taken 
more pains with your scholarship.” 

“Well, sir, I don’t believe any boy in the form 
enjoyed the sets-to between Cleon and the Sausage- 
seller more than I did — eh, Arthur ? ” said Tom, giving 
him a stir with his foot. 

“ Yes, I must say he did,” said Arthur. “ I think, 
sir, you’ve hit upon the wrong book there.” 

“ Kot a bit of it,” said the master. “ Why, in 'those 
very passages of arms, how can you thoroughly appre- 
ciate them unless you are master of the weapons ? and 
the weapons are the language, which you. Brown, have 
never half worked at ; and so, as I say, you must have 
lost all the delicate shades of meaning which make the 
best part of the fun.” 


352 


THEIR TALK. 


Oh ! well played — bravo, Johnson?** shouted 
Arthur, dropping his bat and clapping furiously) and 
Tom joined in with a ‘‘ Bravo, Johnson 1” which might 
have been heard at the chapel. 

“ Eh ! what was it ? I didn’t see,” inquired the 
master ; they only got one run, I thought ? ” 

“No, but such a ball, three-quarters length and 
coming straight for his leg bail. Nothing but that 
turn of the wrist could have saved him, and he drew it 
away to leg for a safe one. Bravo, Johnson ! ” 

“ How well they are bowling, though,” said Arthur ; 
“ they don’t mean to be beat, I can see.” 

“ There now,” struck in the master, “ you see that’s 
‘ just what I have been preaching this half-hour. The 
delicate play is the true thing. I don’t understand 
cricket, so I don’t enjoy those fine draws which you tell 
me are the best play, though when you or Baggies hit 
a ball hard away for six I am as delighted as any one. 
Don’t you see the analogy ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, looking up roguishly, 
“I see; only the question remains whether I should 
have got most good by understanding Greek particles 
or cricket thoroughly. I’m such a thick, I never 
should have had time for both.” 

“ I see you are an incorrigible,” said the master with 
a chuckle ; “ but I refute you by an example. Arthur 
there has taken in Greek and cricket too.” 

“ Yes, but no thanks to him ; Greek came natural to 
him. Why, when he first came I remember he used to 
read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don Quixote, and 
couldn’t have made a false concord if he’d tried ever so 
hard — and then I looked after his cricket.” 


THEIR TALK. 


353 


“ Out ! Bailey has given him out — do you see, Tom ? ” 
cries Arthur. How foolish of them to run so hard.” 

“Well, it can’t be helped, he has played very well. 
Whose turn is it to go in ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; they’ve got your list in the tent.” 

“ Let’s go and see,” said Tom, rising ; but at this 
moment Jack Eaggles and two or three more came 
running to the island moat. 

“ Oh, Brown, mayn’t I go in next ? ” shouts the 
Swiper. 

“ Whose name is next on the list ? ” says the 
Captain. 

“ Winter’s, and then Arthur’s,” answers the boy 
who carries it ; “ but there are only twenty-six runs 
to get, and no time to lose. I heard Mr. Aislabie say 
that the stumps must be drawn at a quarter past eight 
exactly.” 

“ Oh, do let the Swiper go in,” chorus the boys : so 
Tom yields against his better judgment. 

“I dare say now I’ve lost the match by this non- 
sense,” he says, as he sits down again; “they’ll be 
sure to get Jack’s wicket in three or four minutes; 
however, you’ll have the chance, sir, of seeing a hard 
hit or two,” adds he, smiling, and turning to the master. 

“Come, none of your irony, Brown,” answers the 
master. “ I’m beginning to understand the game 
scientifically. What a noble game it is too ! ” 

‘ Isn’t it? But it’s more than a game. It’s an 
institution,” said Tom. 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “ the birthright of British boys, 
old and young, as habeas cor]pus and trial by jury are 
of British men,” 


354 


THEIR TALK. 


** The discipline and reliance on one another which 
it teaches is so valuable, I think,” went on the master, 
“it ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges 
the individual in the eleven ; he doesn’t play that he 
may win, but that his side may.” 

“ That’s very true,” said Tom, “ and that’s why foot- 
ball and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are 
such much better games than fives’ or hare-and-hounds, 
or any others where the object is to come in first or to 
win for oneself, and not that one’s side may win.” 

“ And then the Captain of the eleven ! ” said the 
master, “ what a post is his in our School- world ! 
almost as hard as the Doctor’s ; requiring skill and 
gentleness and firmness, and I know not what other 
rare qualities.” 

“ Which don’t he wish he may get ? ” said Tom, 
laughing ; “ at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he 
wouldn’t have been such a flat to-night as to let Jack 
Haggles go in out of his turn.” 

“ Ah ! the Doctor never would have done that,” said 
Arthur, demurely. “ Tom, you’ve a great deal to learn 
yet in the art of ruling.” 

“Well, I wish you’d tell the Doctor so, then, and 
get him to let me stop till I’m twenty. I don’t want 
to leave, I’m sure.” 

“What a sight it is,” broke in the master, “the 
Doctor as a ruler. Perhaps ours is the only little corner 
of the British Empire which is thoroughly, wisely, and 
strongly ruled just now. I’m more and more thankful 
every day of my life that I came here to be under him.” 

“ So am I, I’m sure,” said Tom ; “ and more and 
more sorry that I’ve got to leave.” 


TIIEIE TALK. 


355 


Every place and thing one sees here reminds one 
of some wise act of his,” went on the master. “This 
island now — you remember the time, Brown, when it 
was laid out in small gardens, and cultivated by frost- 
bitten fags in February and March ? ” 

“ Of course I do,” said Tom ; “ didn’t I hate spend- 
ing two hours in the afternoons grubbing in the tough 
dirt with the stump of a fives’-bat? But turf-cart 
was good fun enough.” 

“I dare say it was, but it was always leading to 
fights with the townspeople ; and then the stealing 
flowers out of all the gardens in Bugby for the Easter 
show was abominable.” 

“Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “but 
we fags couldn’t help ourselves. But what has that to 
do with the Doctor’s ruling ? ” 

“A great deal, I think,” said the master; “what 
brought island fagging to an end ? ” 

“Why, the Easter Speeches were put off till Mid- 
summer,” said Tom, “ and the sixth had the gymnastic 
poles put up here.” 

“Well, and who changed the time of the Speeches, 
and put the idea of gymnastic poles into the heads of 
their worships the sixth form ? ” said the master. 

“ The Doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. “ I never 
thought of that.” 

“ Of course you didn’t,” said the master, “ or else, 
fag as you were, you would have shouted with the 
whole school against putting down old customs. And 
that’s the way that all the Doctor’s reforms have been 
carried out when he has been left to himself— quietly 
and naturally, putting a good thing in the place of a 

A A 2 


356 


JACK haggles’ innings. 


bad, and letting the bad die out ; no wavering and no 
hurry — the best thing that could be done for the time 
being, and patience for the rest.” 

“Just Tom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur, nudg- 
ing Tom with his elbow, “ driving a nail where it 
will go ; ” to which allusion Tom answered by a sly 
kick. 

“Exactly so,” said the master, innocent of the 
allusion and bye-play. 

Meantime Jack Eaggles, with his sleeves tucked up 
above his great brown elbows, scorning pads and gloves, 
has presented himself at the wicket; and having run 
one for a forward drive of Johnson’s, is about to receive 
his first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, 
and four wickets to go down ; a winning match if they 
play decently steady. The ball is a very swift one, and 
rises fast, catching Jack on the outside of the thigh, 
and bounding away as if from india-rubber, while they 
run two for a leg-bye amidst great applause, and shouts 
from Jack’s many admirers. The next ball is a beauti- 
fully pitched ball for the outer stump, which the reckless 
and unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hits right 
round to leg for five, while the applause becomes deaf- 
ening : . only seventeen runs to get with four wickets — 
the game is all but ours I 

It is “ over” now, and Jack walks swaggering about 
his wicket, with the bat over his shoulder, while Mr. 
Aislabie holds a sliort parley with his men. Then the 
cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowd 
slow twisters. Jack weaves his hand triumphantly 
towards the tent, as much as to say, “ See if I don’t 
finish it all oft now in three hits.” 


THE FINISH. 


357 


Alas, my son Jack! the enemy is too old for thee. 
The 6rst ball of the over Jack steps out and meets, 
swiping with all liis force. If he had only allowed for 
the twist 1 but he hasn’t, and so the ball goes spinning 
up straight into the air, as if it would never come 
down again. Away runs Jack, shouting and trusting 
to the chapter of accidents, but the bowler runs steadily 
under it, judging every spin, and calling out “ I have 
it,” catches it, and playfully pitches it on to the back 
of the stalwart Jack, who is departing with a rueful 
countenance. 

“ I knew how it would be,” says Tom, rising. “ Come 
along, the game’s getting very serious.” 

So they leave the island and go to the tent, and after 
deep consultation Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the 
wicket with a last exhortation from Tom to play steady 
and keep his bat straight. To the suggestions that 
Winter is the best bat left, Tom only replies, “ Arthur 
is the steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs if the 
wicket is only kept up.” 

I am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said the 
master, as they stood together in front of the dense 
crowd, which was now closing in round the ground. 

** Well, I’m not quite sure that he ought to be in for 
his play,” said Tom, “ but I couldn’t help putting him 
in. It will do him so much” good, and you can’t think 
what I owe him.” 

The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and the 
whole field becomes fevered with excitement. Arthur, 
after two narrow escapes, scores one ; and Johnson gets 
the ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, and 
Johnson’s batting worthy the occasion. He makes here 


358 


THE FINISH, 


a two, and there a one, managing to keep the hall to 
himself, and Arthur backs up and runs perfectly : only 
eleven runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely 
breathe. At last Arthur gets the ball again, and ac- 
tually drives it forward for two, and feels prouder than 
when he got the three best prizes, at hearing Tom's 
shout of joy, Well played, well played, young ’un ! ” 

But the next ball is too much for a young hand, and 
his bails fly different ways. Nine runs to make, and two 
wickets to go down — it is too much for human nerves. 

Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to 
take the Lord’s men to the train pulls up at the side of 
the close, and Mr. Aislabie and Tom consult, and give 
out that the stumps will be drawn after the next over. 
And so ends the great match. Winter and Johnson 
carry out their bats, and, it being a one day’s match, the 
Lord’s men are declared the winners, they having 
scored the most in the first innings. 

But such a defeat is a victory : so think Tom and all 
the School eleven, as they accompany their conquerors 
to the omnibus, and send them off with three ringing 
cheers, after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands all round, 
saying to Tom, " I must compliment you, sir, on your 
eleven, and I hope we shall have you for a member if 
you come up to town.” 

As Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning back 
into the close, and everybody was beginning to cry out 
for another country-dance, encouraged by the success of 
the night before, the young master, who was just leav- 
ing the close, stopped him, and asked him to come up to 
tea at half-past eight, adding, “ I won’t keep you more 
than half-an-hour, and ask Arthur to come up too.” 


SHUT OUT. 


359 


‘‘m come Tip with you directly, if you’ll let me,” 
said Tom, “ for I feel rather melancholy, and not quite 
up to the country-dance and supper with the rest.” 

" Do by all means,” said the master ; “ I’ll wait here 
for you.” 

So Tom went off to get his boots and things from the 
tent, to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to speak to 
his second in command about stopping tlie dancing and 
shutting up the close as soon as it grew dusk. Arthur 
promised to follow as soon as he had had a dance. So 
Tom handed his things over to the man in charge of 
the tent, and walked quietly away to the gate where the 
master was waiting, and the two took their way together 
up the Hillmorton road. 

Of course they found the master’s house locked up, 
and all the servants away in the close, about this time 
no doubt footing it away on the grass with extreme 
delight to themselves, and in utter oblivion of the un- 
fortunate bachelor their master, whose one enjoyment 
in the shape of meals was his "dish of tea” (as our 
grandmothers called it) in the evening ; and the phrase 
was apt in his case, for he always poured his out into 
the saucer before drinking. Great was the good man’s 
horror at finding himself shut out of his own house. 
Had he been alone, he would have treated it as a 
matter of course, and would have strolled contentedly 
up and down his gravel- walk until some one came 
home; but he was hurt at the stain on his character of 
host, especially as the guest was a pupil. However, 
the guest seemed to think it a great joke, and presently 
as they poked about round the house, mounted a wall, 
from which he could reach a passage window : the 


360 


HOW THEY GOT IN. 


window, as it turned out, was not bolted, so in another 
minute Tom was in the house and down at the front 
door, which he opened from inside. The master 
chuckled grimly at this burglarious entry, and insisted 
on leaving the hall-door and two of the front windows 
open, to frighten the truants on their return ; and then 
the two set about foraging for tea, in which operation 
the master was much at fault, having the faintest 
possible idea of where to find anything, and being 
moreover wondrously short-sighted; but Tom by a 
sort of instinct knew the right cupboards in the kitchen 
and pantry, and soon managed to place on the snuggery 
table better materials for a meal than had appeared 
there probably during the reign of his tutor, who was 
then and there initiated, amongst other things, into the 
excellence of that mysterious condiment, a dripping- 
cake. The cake was newly baked, and all rich and 
flaky ; Tom had found it reposing in the cook’s private 
cupboard, awaiting her return; and as a warning to 
her, they finished it to the last crumb. The kettle 
sang away merrily on the liob of the snuggery, for, 
notwithstanding the time of year, they lighted a fire, 
throwing both the windows wide open at the same time. 
The heap of books and papers were pushed away to the 
other end of the table, and the great solitary engraving 
of King’s College Chapel over the mantelpiece looked 
less stiff than usual, as they settled themselves down in 
the twilight to the serious drinking of tea. 

After some talk on the match, and other indifferent 
subjects, the conversation came naturally back to Tom’s 
approaching departure, over which he began again to 
make his moan. 


HARRY EAST. 


361 

I 

“ Well, we shall all miss you quite as much as you 
will miss us,” said the master. “ You are the Nestor 
of the School now, are you not ? ** 

“Yes, ever since East left,” answered Tom. 

“ By the bye, have you heard from him ? ” 

“ Yes, I had a letter in February, just before he 
started for India to join his regiment.” 

“ He will make a capital officer.” 

“Aye, won’t he!” said Tom, brightening; “no fellow 
could handle boys better, and I suppose soldiers are 
very like boys. And he’ll never tell them to go 
where he won’t go himself. No mistake about that — 
a braver fellow never walked.” 

“ His year in the sixth will have taught him a good 
deal that will be useful to him now.” 

“ So it will,” said Tom, staring into the fire. “ Poor 
dear Harry,” he went on, “how well I remember the 
day we were put out of the twenty. How he rose to 
the situation, and burnt his cigar-cases, and gave away 
his pistols, and pondered on the constitutional authority 
of the sixth, and his new duties' to the Doctor, and the 
fifth form, and the fags. Aye, and no fellow ever acted 
up to them better, though he was always a people’s man 
— for the fags, and against constituted authorities. He 
couldn’t help that, you know. I’m sure the Doctor must 
have liked him ? ” said Tom, looking up inquiringly. 

“ The Doctor sees the good in every one, and appre- 
ciates it,” said the master, dogmatically ; “ but I hope 
East will get a good colonel. He won’t do if he can’t 
respect those above him. How long it took him, even 
here, to learn the lesson of obeying.” 

“ Well, I wish I were alongside of him,” said Tom. 


862 


WORK IN THE WORLD. 


If I can’t be at Eugby, I want to be at work in the 
world, and not dawdling away three years at Oxford.” 

" What do you mean by ‘ at work in the world ? ’ ” 
said the master, pausing, with his lips close to his 
saucerful of tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

"Well, I mean real work; one’s profession; what- 
ever one will have really to do, and make one’s living 
by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that I 
am not only at play in the world,” answered Tom, rather 
puzzled to find out himself what he really did mean. 

"You are mixing up two very different things in 
your head, I think. Brown,” said the master, putting 
down the empty saucer, " and you ought to get clear 
about them. You talk of ' working to get your living,’ 
and ‘ doing some real good in the world,’ in the same 
breath. ISTow, you may be getting a very good living 
in a profession, and yet doing no good at all in the 
world, but quite the contrary, at the same time. Keep 
the latter before you as your only object, and you will 
be right, whether you make a living or not ; but if you 
dwell on the other, you’ll very likely drop into mere 
money-making, and let the world take care of itself for 
good or evil. Don’t be in a hurry about finding your 
work in the world for yourself ; you are not old enough 
to judge for yourself yet, but just look about you in the 
place you find yourself in, and try to make things 
a little better and honester there. You’ll find plenty to 
keep your hand in at Oxford, or wherever else you go. 
And don’t be led away to think this part of the world 
important, and that unimportant. Every corner of the 
world is important. Ko man knows whether this part 
or that is most so, but every man may do some honest 


WOKK IN THE WOKLD. 


363 


work in his own corner.” And then the good man went 
on to talk wisely to Tom of the sort of work which he 
might take up as an undergraduate; and warned him 
of the prevalent University sins, and explained to him 
the many and great differences between University and 
School life ; till the twilight changed into darkness, 
and they heard the truant servants stealing in by the 
back entrance. 

“I wonder where Arthur can be,” said Tom at last, look- 
ing at his watch : “ why, it’s nearly half-past nine already.” 

“Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, 
forgetful of his oldest friends,” said the master. “ No- 
thing has given me greater pleasure,” he went on, 
“ than your friendship for him ; it has been the making 
of you both.” ' 

“ Of me, at any rate,” answered Tom ; “ I should 
never have been here now but for him. It was the 
luckiest chance in the world that sent him to Eugby, 
and made him my chum.” 

“ Why do you talk of lucky chances ? ” said the 
master ; “ I don’t know that there are any such things 
in the world ; at any rate there was neither luck nor 
chance in that matter.” 

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. 
“ Do you remember when the Doctor lectured you and 
East at the end of one half-year, when you were in the 
shell, and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes ? ” 

“Yes, well enough,” said Tom; “it was the half- 
year before Arthur came.” 

“Exactly so,” answered the master. “Now, I was 
with him a few minutes afterwards, and he was in great 
distress about you two. And, after some talk, we both 


364 


I'lIE doctor’s WGItS. 


agreed that you in particular wanted some object in the 
School beyond games and mischief; for it was quite 
clear that you never would make the regular school 
work your first object. And so the Doctor, at the 
beginning of the next half-year, looked out the best of 
the new boys, and separated you and East, and put the 
young boy into your study, in the hope that when you 
had somebody to lean on you, you would begin to stand 
a little steadier yourself, and get manliness and thought- 
fulness. And I can assure you he has watched the 
experiment ever since, with great satisfaction. Ah ! no^ 
one of you boys will ever know the anxiety you have 
given him, or the care with which he has watched ovei 
every step in your school lives.** 

Up to this time, Tom had never wholly given in to 
or understood the Doctor. At first he had thoroughly 
feared him.. For some years, as I have tried to show, 
he had learnt to regard him with love and respect, and 
to think him a very great and wise and good man. 
But, as regarded his own position in the School, of 
which he was no little proud, Tom had no idea of giving 
any one credit for it but himself ; and, truth to tell, was 
a very self-conceited young gentleman on the subject. 
He was wont to boast that he had fought his own way 
fairly up the school, and had never made up to, or been 
taken up by any big fellow or master, and that it was 
now quite a different place from what it was when he 
first came. And, indeed, though he didn’t actually 
boast of it, yet in his secret soul he did to a great 
extent believe, that the great reform in the School had 
been owing quite as much to himself as to any one else. 
Arthur, he acknowledged, had done him good, and 


A NEW LIGHT. 


365 


taught him a good deal ; so had other hoys indiffe rent 
ways, but they had not had the same means of influence 
on the School in general ; and as for the Doctor, why, 
he was a splendid master, but every one knew that 
masters could do very little out of school hours. In 
short, he felt on terms of equality with his chief, so far 
as the social state of the School was concerned, and 
thought that the Doctor would find it no easy matter to 
get on without him. Moreover, his school Toryism 
was still strong, and he looked still with some jealousy 
on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the matter 
of change ; and thought it very desirable for the School 
tliat he should have some wise person (such as himself) 
to look sharply after vested School-rights, and see that 
nothing was done to the injury of the republic without 
due protest. 

It was a new light to him to find, that, besides 
teaching the sixth, and governing and guiding the 
whole School, editing classics, and writing histories, the 
great Head-master had found time in those busy years 
to watch over the career even of him, Tom Brown, and 
his particular friends,— and, no doubt, of fifty other boys 
at the same time ; and all this without taking the least 
credit to himself, or seeming to know, or let anyone else 
know, that he ever thought particularly of any boys at alL 

However, the Doctor’s victory was complete from 
that moment over Tom Brown at any rate. He gave 
way at all points, and the enemy marched right over 
him, cavalry, infantry, and artillery, the land transport 
corps, and the camp followers. It had taken eight long 
years to do it, but now it was done thoroughly, and 
there wasn’t a corner of him left which didn’t believe 


3G6 


HEEO-WOKSIIIP. 


in the Doctor. Had he returned to school again, and 
the Doctor begun the half-year by abolishing fagging^ 
and foot-ball, and the Saturday half-holiday, or all 
or any of the most cherished school institutions, Tom 
would have supported him with the blindest faith. And 
so, after a half confession of his previous shortcomings, 
and sorrowful adieus to his tutor, from whom he 
received two beautifully hound volumes of tlie Doctor’s 
Sermons, as a parting present, he marched down to the 
School-house, a hero-worshipper, who would have satis- 
fied the soul of Thomas Carlyle himself. 

There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper, 
Jack Haggles shouting comic songs, and performing 
feats of strength ; and was greeted by a chorus of 
mingled remonstrance at his desertion, and joy at his 
reappearance. And falling in with the humour of the 
evening, was soon as great a boy as all the rest ; and at 
ten o’clock was chaired round the quadrangle, on one 
of the hall benches, borne aloft by the eleven, shouting 
m chorus, “ For he’s a jolly good fellow,” while old 
Thomas, in a melting mood, and the other School- 
house servants, stood looking on. 

And the next morning after breakfast he squared up 
all the cricketing accounts, went round to his trades- 
men and other acquaintance, and said his hearty good- 
byes, and by twelve o’clock was in the train, and away 
for London, no longer a school-boy ; and divided in his 
thoughts between hero-worship, honest regrets over the 
long stage of his life which was now slipping out of 
sight behind him, and hopes and resolves for the next 
stage, upon which he was entering with all the confi- 
dence of a young traveller. 


FINIS. 


3C7 


CHAPTER IX. 

FINIS. 


** Strange friend, past, present, and to be ; 

Loved deeplier, darklier understood ; 

Behold, I dream a dream of good, 

And mingle all the world with thee.” 

Tennyson. 



the summer of 
1842, our hero 
stopped once again 
at the well-known 
station : and, leav- 
ing his bag and 
fishing - rod with 
a porter, walked 
slowly and sadly 
up towards the 
town. It was now 
July. He had 
rushed away from 
Oxford the mo- 
ment that term was 
over, for a fishing 
ramble in Scotland 
with two college 
friends, and had been for three weeks living on oatcake, 
mutton-hams, and whiskey, in the wildest parts of Skye, 


368 


FINIS. 


They had descended one sultry evening on the little inn 
at Kyle Khea ferry, and while Tom and another of the 
party put their tackle together and began exploring the 
stream for a sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into 
the house to arrange for their entertainment. Pre- 
sently he came out in a loose blouse and slippers, a 
short pipe in his mouth, and an old newspaper in his 
hand, and threw himself on the heathery scrub which 
met the shingle, within easy hail of the fishermen. 
There he lay, the picture of free-and-easy, loafing, 
hand-to-mouth young England, “improving his mind,” 
as he shouted to them, by the perusal of the fortnight- 
old weekly paper, soiled with the marks of toddy-glasses 
and tobacco-ashes, the legacy of the last traveller, which 
he had hunted out from the kitchen of the little hostelry ; 
and being a youth of a communicative turn of mind, 
began imparting the contents to the fishermen as he 
went on. 

“AYhat a bother they are making about these 
wretched Corn-laws; here’s three or four columns full 
of nothing but sliding-scales and fixed duties. — Hang 
this tobacco, it’s always going out ! — Ah, here’s some- 
thing better — a splendid match between Kent and Eng- 
land, Brown ! Kent winning by three wickets. Eelix 
fifty-six runs without a chance, and not out ! ” 

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, 
answered only with a grunt. 

''Anything about the Goodwood?” called out the 
third man. 

" Eory-o-More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” shouted 
the student. 

" Just my luck,” grumbled the inquirer, jerking his 


FINIS, ' 369 

flies off the water, and throwing again with a heavy 
sullen splash, and frightening Tom’s fish. 

" I say, can’t you throw lighter over there ? we 
ain’t fishiog for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the 
stream. 

‘'Hullo, Brown? here’s something for you,” called 
out the reading man next moment. “ Why, your old 
master, Arnold of Bugby, is dead.” 

Tom’s hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his 
line and flies went all tangling round and round his 
rod ; you might have knocked him over with a feather. 
Neither of his companions took any notice of him luckily; 
and with a violent effort he set to work mechanically to 
disentangle his line. He felt completely carried off his 
moral and intellectual legs, as if he had lost his stand- 
ing-point in the invisible world. Besides which, the 
deep loving loyalty which he felt for his old leader 
made the shock intensely painful. It was the first great 
wrench of his life, the first gap which the angel Death 
had made in his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten 
down, and spiritless. Well, well ! I believe it was good 
for him and for many others in like case ; who had to 
learn by that loss, that the soul of man cannot stand or 
lean upon any human prop, however strong, and wise, 
and good ; but that He upon whom alone it can stand 
and lean will knock away all such props in His own 
wise and merciful way, until there is no ground or stay 
left but Himself, the Eock of Ages, upon whom alone 
a sure foundation for every soul of man is laid. 

As he wearily laboured at his line, the thought struck 
him, “ It may all be false, a mere newspaper lie,” and 
he strode up to the recumbent smoker. 


FINIS. 


?:70 

" Let me look at the paper,” said he. 

** Nothing else in it,” answered the other, handing it 
up to him listlessly. — “ Hullo, Brown ! what’s the 
matter, old fellow — ain’t you well ? ” 

“ Where is it ? ” said Tom, turning over the leaves, 
his hands trembling, and his eyes swimming, so that he 
could not read. 

"What? What are you looking for?” said his 
friend, jumping up and looking over his shoulder. 

" That — about Arnold,” said Tom. 

“ Oh, here,” said the other, putting his finger on the 
paragraph. Tom read it over and over again; there 
could be no mistake of identity, though the account was 
short enough. 

" Thank j^ou,” said he at last, dropping the paper. 
" I shall go for a walk : don’t you and Herbert wait 
supper for me.” And away he strode, up over the 
moor at the back of the house, to be alone, and master 
his grief if possible. 

His friend looked after him, sympathising and won- 
dering, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, walked 
over to Herbert. After a short parley, they walked 
together up to the house. 

“I’m afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled 
Brown’s fun for this trip.” 

“ How odd that he should be so fond of his old 
master,” said Herbert. Yet they also were both public- 
school men. 

The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s prohibition, 
waited supper for him, and had everything ready when 
he came back some half-an-hour afterwards. But he 
could not join in their cheerful talk, and the party was 


FINIS. 


371 


soon silent, notwithstanding the efforts of all three. 
One thing only had Tom resolved, and that was, that 
he couldn’t stay in Scotland any longer; he felt an 
irresistible longing to get to liughy, and then home, 
and soon broke it to the others, who had too much tact 
to oppose. 

So by daylight the next morning he was marching 
through Eoss-shire, and in the evening hit the Cale- 
donian canal, took the next steamer, and travelled as 
fast as boat and railway could carry him to the Eugby 
station. 

As he walked up to the town, he felt shy and afraid 
of being seen, and took the back streets ; why, he 
didn’t know, but he followed his instinct. At the 
school-gates he made a dead pause; there was not a 
soul in the quadrangle — all was lonely, and silent, and 
sad. So with another effort he strode through the 
quadrangle, and into the School-house offices. 

^ He found the little matron in her room in deep 
mourning ; shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved 
nervously about: she was evidently thinking of the 
same subject as he, but he couldn't begin talking. 

“Where shall I find Thomas 1” said he at last, 
getting desperate. 

“ In the servants* hall, I think, sir. But won’t you 
take anything?” said the matron, looking rather dis- 
appointed. 

“ Ho, thank you,” said he, and strode off again to 
find the old Verger, who was sitting in his little den as 
of old, puzzling over hieroglyphics. 

He looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seized 
his hand and wrung it. 


372 


FINIS. 


“ All ! youVe heard all about it, sir, I see,” said he. 

Tom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe-board, 
while the old man told his tale, and wiped his specta- 
cles, and fairly flowed over with quaint, homely, honest 
sorrow. 

By the time he had done, Tom felt much better. 

“ Where is he buried, Thomas ? ” said he at last. 

“ Under the altar in the chapel, sir,” answered 
Thomas. " You’d like to have the key, I dare say.” 

“ Thank you, Thomas — Yes, I should very much.” 
And the old man fumbled among his bunch, and then 
got up, as though he would go with him; but after a 
few steps stopped short, and said, '' Perhaps you’d like 
to go by yourself, sir ? ” 

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys wwe handed to 
him, with an injunction to be sure and lock the door 
after him, and bring them back before eight o’clock. 

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out 
into the close. The longing which had been upon him 
and driven him thus far, like the gad-fly in the Greek 
legends, giving him no rest in mind or body, seemed all 
of a sudden not to be satisfied, but to shrivel up, and 
pall. “ Why should I go on ? It’s no use,” he 
thought, and threw himself at full length on the turf, 
and looked vaguely and listlessly at all the well-known 
objects. There were a few of the town boys playing 
cricket, their wicket pitched on the best piece in the 
middle of the big- side ground, a sin about equal to 
sacrilege in the eyes of a captain of the eleven. He 
W'as very nearly getting up to go and send them off. 
‘'Pshaw! they won’t remember me. They’ve more 
right there than I,” he muttered. And the thought 


FINIS. 


373 


that his sceptre had departed, and his marie was wear- 
ing out, came home to him for the first time, and bit- 
terly enough. He was l>ing on the very spot where 
the fights came off ; where he himself had fought six 
years ago his first and last battle. He conjured up 
the scene till he could almost hear the shouts of the 
ring, and East’s whisper in his ear; and looking across 
the close to the Doctor’s private door, half expected to 
see it open, and the tall figure in cap and gown come 
striding under the elm-trees towards him. 

No, no ! that sight could never be seen again. There 
was no flag flying on the round tower 1 the School-house 
windows were all shuttered up : and when the flag went 
up again, and the shutters came down, it would be to 
welcome a stranger. All that was left on earth of him 
whom he had honoured, was lying cold and still under 
the chapel floor. He would go in and see the place 
once more, and then leave it once lor all. New men 
and new methods might do for other people ; let those 
who would worship the rising star ; he at least would be 
faithful to the sun which had set. And so he got up 
and walked to the chapel door and unlocked it, fancy- 
ing himself the only mourner in all the broad land, and 
feeding on his own selfish sorrow. 

He passed through tiie vestibule, and then paused 
for a moment to glance over the empty benches. His 
heart was still proud and high, and he walked up to the 
seat which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, 
and sat himself down there to collect his thoughts. 

And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting 
in order not a little. The memories of eight years w^ere 
all dancing through his brain, and carrying him about 


374 


FINIS. 


whither they would ; while beneath them all, hia heart 
was throbbing with the dull sense of a loss that could 
never be made up to him. The rays of the evening 
sun came solemnly through the painted windows above 
his head, and fell in gorgeous colours on the opposite 
wall, and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit by little 
and little. And he turned to the pulpit, and looked 
at it, and then, leaning forward with his head on his 
hands, groaned aloud. If he could only have seen 
the Doctor again for one five minutes ; have told him 
all that was in his heart, Avhat he owed to him, how he 
loved and reverenced him, and would by God’s help 
follow his steps in life and death, he could have borne 
it all without a murmur. Bub that he should have 
gone away for ever without knowing it all, was too 

much to bear.” " But am I sure that he does not 

know it all ? ” — the thought made him start — " May 
he not even now be near me, in this very chapel ? If 
he be, am I sorrowing as he would have me sorrow — 
as I should wish to have sorrowed when I shall meet 
him again ? ” 

He raised himself up and looked round ; and after 
a minute rose and walked humbly down to the lowest 
bench, and sat down on the very seat which he had 
occupied on his first Sunday at Bugby. And then the 
old memories rushed back again, but softened and sub- 
dued, and soothing him as he let himself be carried 
away by them. And he looked up at the great painted 
window above the altar, and remembered how when a 
little boy he used to try not to look through it at the 
elm-trees and the rooks, before the painted glass came 
^and the subscription for the painted glass, and the 


FINIS. 


375 


letter mhe wrote home for money to give to it. And 
there, down below, was the very name of the boy who 
sat on his right hand on that first day, scratched rudely 
in the oak paneling. 

And then came the thought of all his old school- 
fellows ; and form after form of boys, nobler, and 
braver, and purer than he, rose up and seemed to 
rebuke him. Could he not think of them, and what 
they had felt and were feeling, they who had honoured 
and loved from the first, the man whom he had taken 
years to know and love ? Could he not think of those 
yet dearer to him who w^as gone, who bore his name 
and shared his blood, and were now without a husband 
or a father ? Then the grief which he began to share 
with others became gentle and holy, and he rose up 
once more, and walked up the steps to the altar; and 
while the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, knelt 
down humbly and hopefully, to lay down there his share 
of a burden which had proved itself too h9avy for him 
to bear in his own strength. 

Here let us leave him — where better could we leave 
him, than at the altar, before which he had first caught 
a glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the 
drawing of the bond which links all living souls toge- 
ther in one brotherhood — at the grave beneath the altar 
of him, who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and 
softened his heart till it could feel that bond ? 

And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment 
his soul is fuller of the tomb and him who lies there^ 
than of the altar and Him of whom it speaks. Such 
stages have to be gone through, I believe, by all young 
and brave souls, who must win their way through hero- 


376 


FINIS. 


worship, to the worship of Him who is the King and 
Lord of heroes. For it is only through our mysterious 
human relationships, through the love and tenderness 
and purity of mothers, and sisters, and wives, through 
the strength and courage and wisdom of fathers, and 
brothers, and teachers, that we can come to the know- 
ledge of Him, in whom alone the love, and the tender- 
ness, and the purity, and the strength, and the courage, 
and the wisdom of all these dwell for ever and ever in 
perfect fulness. 


THE END. 


MACMILLAN AND CO.’S 

BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 


WORKS BY LEWIS CARROLL. 

One Hundredth Thousand. 

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 

With Forty-two Illustrations by Tenniel. Crown 
8vo, cloth, gilt. Price, $1.50. 

•'An excellent piece of nonsense.” — Times. 

“That most delightful of children’s stories.” — Saturday Remew. 
“Elegant and delicious nonsense.” — Guardian. 

Fiftieth Thousand. 

Through the Looking Glass and What 
Alioe Found There. With Fifty Ulus- 
trations by Tenniel. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt. 
Price, 11.50. 

“ Will fairly rank with the tale of her previous experience.” — 
Daily Telegraph. 

“Many of Mr. Tenniel’s designs are masterpieces of wise 
absurdity. ” — Athenmum. 

‘ ‘ Whether as regarding author or illustrator, this book is a 
jewel rarely to be found nowadays.” — Echo. 

“Not a whit inferior to its predecessor in grand extravagance 
of imagination, and delicious allegorical nonsense.” — (Quarterly 
Review. 

The Hunting of the Snark. An Agony in 
Eight Fits. With Nine Illustrations by H. Holi- 
day. Crown 8 VO, gilt. $1.25. Sixteenth thousand. 

“ This glorious piece of nonsense . . . Everybody ought to read 
it — nearly everybody will — and all who deserve the treat will 
scream with laughter.” — Graphic. 

Doublets. A Word Puzzle. Second edition. Crown 
8vo, cloth, gilt. 75 cents. 


1 


NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS 

traiPORM WITH 

“ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND,” Etc. 


By the Author of “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.” 

The Fairy Book. The Best Popular Fairy Stories, 
selected and rendered anew. New Edition, with 
Colored Illustrations by J. E. Rogers. Crown 8vo, 
cloth extra, gilt. 11.50 

“A delightful selection, in a delightful external form ; full of 
the physical splendor and vast opulence of proper fairy tales.” — 
Spectator. 

By CHARLES KINGSLEY. 

The Heroes; G-reek Fairy Tales for my Children. 
New Edition, with Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth 
extra, gilt. $1.50. 

“ One of the children’s hooks that will surely become a classic.” 

By THOMAS HUGHES, M. P. 

Tom Brown's Sohool Days. By Thomas 

Hughes, M.P. New Illustrated Edition, in 12mo, 
cloth, gilt. $1.00. 

Pocket Edition, 50 cents. 

*‘The most famous boys’ book in the language .” — Daily News. 

By the same Author. 

Tom Brown at Oxford. New Illustrated 
•Edition. 13mo, cloth, gilt. $1.50. 

“ In no other work that we can call to mind are the finer quali- 
ties of the English gentleman more happily portrayed .” — Daily 
News. 

“A book of great power and truth .” — National Reriew. 

By the Author of “THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE.” 

The Prince and the Page. A story of the 
last crusade. AVith Illustrations. New Edition. 
Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt. $1.25. 

The Little Duke, Richard the Fearless. With 
Illustrations. Crown 8yo, cloth, gilt. $1.25. 

*** The above Six Volumes, with ‘‘Alice’s Adventures in 
Wonderland” and “Through the Looking Glass” (Eight 
Volumes), in box, $10, 


2 


NEW UNIFORM EDITION 


OP 

MRS. MOLESWORTH’S BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG, 

Beautifully Illustrated by WALTER CRANE. 

GrQndmothsr D©ar. With Illustrations by 
Walter Crake. Ninth Thousand. 16mo, cloth, 
elegant. $1.50. 

“ Cliarmingly written pages, full of delightful but simple 
adventures. We strongly recommend it to aunts, uncles and 
grandmothers.” — Examiner. 

Tell Me a Story. Illustrated by Walter Crake. 

Third Edition. 16mo, cloth, elegant. $1.50. 

“ So delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and 
we hope she may soon tell us more stories.” — Athenaeum. 

''Carrots:" Just a Little Boy. Illustrated 
by Walter Crake. Tenth Thousand. 16mo, cloth, 
elegant. $1.50. 

“One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our 
good fortune to meet with for some time. ‘ Carrots ’ and his sister 
are delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to be- 
come very fond of.” — Examiner. 

The Cuckoo Clock. Illustrated by Walter 
Crake. Ninth Thousand. 16mo, cloth, elegant. 
$1.50. 

“ A beautiful little story. . . . It will be read with delight by 
every child into whose hands it is placed.” 

The Tapestry Room; A Child’s Eomance. 
Illustrated by Walter, Crake. 16mo, cloth, ele- 
gant. $1.50. 

“Mrs. Moles worth is the Queen of children’s fairy land. She 
knows how to make use of the vague, fresh, wondering instincts of 
childhood, and to invest familiar things with ‘ fairy glamour. ’ ” — 
Athenaeum. 


The above Five Volumes in paper box, $7.50. 


8 


By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 

P's and Q's ; Or, The Question of Putting Upon. 
With Illustrations. 16mo, cloth, gilt. $1.25. 

By the same Author. 

The Lances of Lynwood. With Illustrations. 
New edition. 16nio, cloth, gilt. $1.25. 


By E, KEARY. 

The Magic Valley; Or, Patient Antoine. With 
Illustrations. New edition. 16mo, cloth, gilt. $1.25. 

“ A very pretty, tender, quaint little tale." — Times. 


THE GOLDEH TREASURY SERIES. 

The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and 
Lyrical Poems in the English Language. Selected 
and arranged with notes. By Fuancis TuKi^EK 
Palgrave. New Edition. Cloth, gilt. 

Bacon's Essays and Colours of Good and Evil. 
With notes, etc. By W. Aldis Wright, M.A. 
New Edition. Cloth, gilt. 

A Book of Golden Deeds. By the Author of 
the Heir oe Eedclyeee.” New Edition. Cloth, 
gilt. 

Tales from Shakespeare. By Charles and 
Mary Lamb. Edited, with an Introduction, by 
Alfred Aikger, M.A. New Edition. Cloth, gilt. 

Poems of Wordsworth. Chosen and Edited 
by Matthew Arnold. New Edition. Cloth, gilt. 

Poems from Shelley. Selected and arranged by 
the Rev. Stopford A. Brooke. New Edition. 
Cloth, gilt. 

New Uniform Edition of the above six volumes, with 

Tignette Titles, in neat paper box, $6.00; or separately, 

$1,23 per volume. 


Madam How and Lady Why; Or First 
Lessons in Eartli Lore for Children. By Charles 
Kingsley. New American edition. 12mo, cloth, 
11.50. 


Th© V/atGr Babi©S. A Fairy Tale for a Land 
Baby. By Charles Kingsley. New Illustrated 
American edition. Cloth, gilt, $1.25. 

“In fun, in humor, and in innocent imagination, as a child’s 
book, we do not know its equal .” — London Meview. 

“Mr. Kingsley must have the credit of revealing to us anew 
order of life. . . . There is in the ‘ Water Babies’ an abundance 
of wit, fun, good humor, geniality, elan, go.” — Times. 


F airy Talos. Their Origin and Meaning, with some 
account of “Dwellers in Fairy Land.” By John 
Thackray Bunge. 16mo, cloth, elegant. 90 cts. 


Stories from the History of Rome. By 

Mrs. Beesly. New edition. 16mo, cloth. 90 cents. 
“ A little book for which every cultivated and intelligent mother 
will be grateful.” — Examiner. 


The Five Gateways of Knowledge. By 
George Wilson. Sixth edition. Illustrated. 
75 cents. 

“The names of these Gates were these: Ear-gate, Eye-gate, 
Mouth-gate, Nose-gate, and Feel-gate.” 


5 


STANDARD DOLLAR SERIES 

OF 

BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 


NEW AND ELEGANT EDITIONS. 


By MRS. OLIPHANT. 

Agnes Hopetoun's Schools and Holi- 
days. The Experience of a Little Girl. I\ew 
edition. With Illustrations. 16 mo, cloth, gilt. 

Ruth and her Friends. A Story for Girls. 
New edition. With Illustrations. 16 ino, cloth, gilt. 

When I was a Little Girl. By the author of 
‘•'St. Olaves.” Illustrated by L. Erolich. New 
edition. IGmo, cloth, gilt. 

By A. and E. KEARY. 

The Heroes of Asgard. Mythological Tales. 
With Illustrations. IGmo, cloth, gilt. 

“Reminds us of our old favorite, Grimm.” — Times. 

By the Author of “MRS. JERNINGHAM’S JOURNAL.” 

The Runaway. With illustrations. 16 mo, cloth, 
gilt. 

“ It is an admirable book .” — Saturday Review. 

By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 

A Storehouse of Stories. Two volumes. Each 
IGmo, cloth, gilt. 

By FRANCES AWDRY. 

The Story of a Fellow-Soldier. (A Life of 
Bishop Paiteson for the young.) 16 mo, cloth, 
gilt. 

The above Eight Volumes in box, $7, 50, 


V 


CHARLES KINGSLEY’S NOVELS AND 
TALES, ETC. . 


At Last ; a Christmas, in the West Indies, With 
Illustrations. 12mo. $J.75. 

Two Years Ago. i2mo. $1.75, 

Y/estward Ho; Or the Voyages and Adyenturcs 
of Sir Amyas Leigh, 12mo. $1. 75. 

Hypatia ; Or, New Foes with an Old Face. 12mo. 
11.75. 

New cheap edition, paper, 60 cents; cloth, 11.00. 

Alton Looke, Tailor and Poet. With a prefatory 
Memoir by Thomas Hughes. 12mo. $1.75. 

Yeast; a Problem. 12mo. $1.75. 

Hereward, the Last of the English. 12mo. $1.75 

The Water Babies. A Fairy Tale for a Land 
Baby. With Illustrations. 12mo. $1.75. 

The Heroes; Or, Greek Fairy Tales for my Chil- 
dren. With Illustrations. 12mo. $1.50. 

Glauous; Or, the Wonders of the Shore. With 
Colored Illustrations. 12mo. $1.75. 

Madam How and Lady Why; Or, First 
Lessons in Earth Lore for Children. With Illus- 
trations. 12mo. $1.50. 

Town Geology, and other Essays. 12mo. $1.75. 

7 


CHARLOTTE M. YONCE'S NOVELS AND 
TALES. 


New uniform Illustrated edition. 12mo. Cloth, gilt. 
Per volume, 11.75. 

The Heir of Redclyffe. 

Heartsease. 

The Daisy Chain. 

The Trial. More Links of the Daisy Chain. 
Hopes and Fears. 

Dynevor Terraoe. 

The Young Stepmother. 
The Dove in the Eagle's Nest. 

The Caged Lion. 

The Chaplet of Pearls. 

The Pillars of the House. Two volumes. 
My Young Aloides. 

The Three Brides. 

Magnum Bonum. 

The Danvers Papers and Lady Hester. 
Womankind. 

Macmillai^ & Co’s complete classified catalogue 
sent free by mail to any address on receipt of six cents. 

MACMILLAN & CO; 


22 Bond. Street, ]Vew Yorlc. 











4 








